


From Hydra with Love

by insomnia1999



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Banter, Bond Style Shenanigans and Gadgets, Fake Blow Job, Graphic Violence, Humor, James Bond References, Lasers, M/M, Pretend Sugar Daddy Steve, Probably no laser sharks, Real Blow Job, Sharks, Spies & Secret Agents, but you never know with Hydra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:36:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomnia1999/pseuds/insomnia1999
Summary: Captain Steve Rogers is one of the best spies in the world - a marksman, a martial artist, an expert in strategy and tactics. There's not a lot he can't handle. Heck, he's even saved the world once or twice.So why does every run in with the mysterious Winter Soldier leave him feeling like the Bond Girl?





	1. Casino Royale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nejinee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/gifts).



> For this years RBB I was lucky enough to get [Nejinee's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee) gorgeous artwork. You can see it [here](https://78.media.tumblr.com/8cffd344d77865d51cc48aa71f86a116/tumblr_pawez2SgPQ1syqh28o2_1280.jpg), or at the end of Chapter 2. She even did an extra [title card](http://78.media.tumblr.com/39a4046f220a488fbcecd3c97a0e1ed5/tumblr_pawez2SgPQ1syqh28o1_540.jpg) for me! Thank you, Nejinee – working with you has been amazing!
> 
> Thanks to the RBB mods for making this possible and to everyone on the RBB Slack who suggested a Secret Agent AU. 
> 
> Extra Special Thanks to [Cryo_Bucky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky) for being a fantastic beta and to both Cryo_Bucky and Nejinee for all their encouragement while I was writing. Real Life really punched me in the face (more than once) while I was writing this and I will always be grateful for their patience and encouragement along the way. Thank you both so much!! ~ insomina1999 
> 
> All chapter titles are works by Ian Fleming

  


“Code Purple! I repeat, Code Purple! She's headed east,” Clint's shout was loud in Steve's earpiece. _God damn it._

Steve punched the agent he was wrestling with, dropping him like a stone. He dodged a stun baton and roundhouse kicked the second Hydra agent, knocking him over the edge of the roof. _Oopsie._ _Oh, well._ There were still plenty more to take in for questioning. His first was going to be why Hydra thought a simple grad student rated a seven man hit squad. 

“Nat? You got eyes on?” He glanced toward the stairwell, but that would take too long. How the hell had Clint let the target slip past him? Now she was on the loose and Hydra had shoot-to-kill orders. 

“Negative,” Nat said flatly. Steve could hear sounds of fighting over her mic. “I've got two down, one to go.” 

_Well, shit._ Steve took a deep breath and sprinted for the edge of the roof. He vaulted over the edge, slapping his wrist hard on the edge as he went over. His watch instantly uncoiled, anchoring itself into the concrete, spooling out a grappling wire. Steve zipped down, six stories flashing by and hit the ground running. 

His bike was idling where he'd left it and he pulled away in a screech of rubber and smoke. The time for subtlety was over. Hydra knew they were here and a woman's life hung in the balance. 

Head down he roared back toward Clint's location. He didn't have to go far – the last two Hydra operatives were in the open, moving fast. He saw them make their target, guns coming up. _Too slow, Rogers. Too slow._

He gunned the engine and planted his feet, boots digging into the asphalt, and threw himself backward, launching the motorcycle into the air. It flew in a perfect arc, landing with a crash of metal and crunch of bone. 

Steve jogged past the remains of his bike, sparing a glance to make sure the last of the hit squad were dead. Up ahead he could see their target. The woman was crouched low, a set of keys held between her fingers. Her eyes were wide, but she didn't look panicked. 

He slowed to a walk, hands held up where she could see them. 

She blinked at him and slowly stood up. Her eyes flicked to the wrecked motorcycle, it's wheel still slowly spinning in the air. 

“It's OK, you can relax. I'm an Agent of Shield - you're safe now,” Steve smiled, aiming for reassuring, not sure he was pulling it off. 

“Safe?” she snapped, blue eyes narrowed. “Safe from what? Who were those guys?” 

“Those were Hydra agents. They were sent to kill you. I'm here to take you into protective custody.” 

The woman took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She looked at the dead agents again, and then back to Steve. “OK, alright. Maybe we can start at the beginning. Can I see some ID?” 

“Yes, ma'am,” Steve nodded his head. Good for her. A lot of civilians would be a gibbering wreck right now. He fished his ID out of his pocket and held it up. 

“It's Rogers, ma'am; Special Agent Steve Rogers.” 

  


  
  


“You are an idiot. A complete and utter moron,” Natasha sighed. Before Clint could stop her, she put her fingers on either side of his nose, yanking it straight. 

“Come on Nat,” Clint yelped, trying to stop the gush of blood with the bottom of his shirt. “We stopped the bad guys! We saved the girl! What's the big deal?” 

Steve didn't see the problem either; as Clintastrophes went, this hardly made the scale. Of course, he was smart enough not disagree with Nat out loud. He kept his head down, rummaging through the first aid kit he'd found in the bathroom. He'd never been to college, but shouldn't a first aid kit have fewer condoms and more bandages? 

He gave up and handed Clint his last handkerchief. 

Clint grinned, his teeth bloody and jammed two corners up his nostrils. Steve shook his head. So what if everyone on the team called him old-fashioned? Sometimes handkerchiefs were more useful than all of Tony's gadgets. 

“The problem,” Nat said, “is the day after tomorrow. The reason we came to LA in the first place?” 

“I can still-” 

“Please,” Nat rolled her eyes. “You look like roadkill.” 

Steve looked Clint over. He did look worse for wear. His nose might be set, but both his eyes were starting to black. His lip was split and he was leaning left, keeping weight off his 'probably broken but hopefully only sprained' ankle. 

“You had the easy job,” Nat fumed. “How the hell did a civilian get the drop on you like that?” 

“Naaaattt,” Clint whined. “She didn't know we were trying to help. She thought I was one of the bad guys.” 

She cut him off, waving a finger in his face. “I don't want to hear it. There's no way you can go like that. Which means it's going to have to be Steve.” 

“Me?” Steve's hands start to sweat. _Oh, no, no. No way._ “Clint's right; it's not _that_ bad. Maybe if we get some makeup, put his ankle in a brace-” The rest of the sentence froze in his throat at Nat's steely-eyed gaze. 

“Nat,” he tried again, “You know it's not my kind of mission. Maybe Tony-” 

“Tony is in New York,” Nat took a step toward him. 

“I could call for an emergency military transport?” Steve hoped he didn't sound as panicked as he felt. 

Nat shook her head. Steve knew she was right. They needed Tony on the computers. He desperately thought of last weeks inter-agency briefing, trying to think of anyone else who might be in the area. 

“We could call Thor!” Steve said quickly. “Or Loki! This is definitely a Loki kind of Op. Mexico City isn't that far. I know they're undercover, but-” 

Steve realized he'd been backing away from Nat when his back hit the wall. She was half his size – how the hell was she so intimidating? 

“Oh, no, Rogers,” Nat purred. “This side mission was your idea. 'It will be easy, guys!'” she dropped her voice, doing an eerily good imitation of Steve. “'It's just a WitPro, how hard can it be?'” 

“It was supposed to be easy!” Steve said. He was almost positive his voice didn't squeak. “And we owed Philips. You know we did!” 

“Yeah, Nat, we owed Philips,” Clint said. He sounded really happy that Nat's focus was on Steve. _That bastard._

By now Nat had Steve crowed up onto his toes. He eyed the window to his right. He didn't have a spare grapple, but they were only four floors up.... 

“You are _going_ to that gala with me,” Nat said slowly. “You will do your part and do it well. And so help me God, Rogers, if you step on my toes...” 

Steve swallowed hard. Nat was right - Clint was a complete and utter moron. And he was the one who was going to suffer for it. 

~ ~ ~ 

Steve rolled his neck, trying to stretch the collar of his shirt. God, he hated wearing a tuxedo. At least the Photostatic Veil only felt like ants crawling on his face. The stupid tux was trying to strangle him. He should have had Tony overnight his custom tailored one. But nope, he'd been in denial, hoping he wouldn't have to do this at all. 

He sighed and let Natasha move him around the dance floor while trying to look like he was leading. Why was he so terrible at this? He was a master of five different kinds of unarmed combat, yet a simple dance step - 

“Oh, gosh,” Natasha deliberately stepped on his toe. “I'm so sorrryyy,” she simpered, playing up her part as arm-candy. “A little focus, Rogers?” she whispered, just loud enough for her mic to pick up. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “It's just this suit-” 

“Wasn't made to fit someone with the shoulder to waist ratio of a Dorito?” Clint was back at the safe house, but his voice came through the earbud loud and clear. 

“I do not-” Steve started, only to have Natasha step on his toe again. Hard. 

“Do you have to keep doing that?” Steve hissed. 

“Yes,” Natasha said flatly. 

“Aww, toes,”Clint sounded sad, but Steve could hear him snickering. 

“How many times do I have to say 'I'm sorry'?” Steve huffed. Geez, break someone's toe once and they never let you forget it. 

“I'll let you know,” Nat said smiling sweetly. 

“Can we focus on the mission? Please?” Tony's voice cut in. There was a long pause. “God, I can't believe I just said that.” 

“Yeah, me either. Fury will be so proud.” Clint sniffed loudly. “Our little agent is all grown up now.” 

“It's not that I care about the mission, per se,” Tony said quickly. “I just-” 

“Get a boner seeing your tech in action?” Clint said voice muffled. Steve heard the distinct sound of chewing. 

“That better not have been the last chocolate donut,” Nat smiled up at Steve and moved them toward the edge of the dance floor. 

“Ummm, no?” Clint lied. 

“Can we cut the chatter?” Steve whispered. “Please?” 

“Aye, aye, Cap,” Tony said smartly. Steve sighed. Some days he regretted accepting Fury's offer to be team leader. Most days. Today, for example. 

“Ready to work?” Nat said, and Steve nodded. He blinked his eyes in the pattern that would activate the camera built inside his contact lenses. He could see Nat doing the same. As posh as this hotel was, it's internal security cameras just weren't good enough for what they needed. 

“Tony?” Steve asked. 

“Oooo, yeah, that's the ticket, baby,” Tony crooned. “Looking good.” 

“Well, yeah,” Clint said. “If you mean picture quality. The view up Steve's nose, not so much.” 

Steve glanced down toward Nat, who almost smiled before turning her head to scan the crowd. 

“Jarvis is running facial recognition now,” Tony said. “So dance, my puppets, dance. Mwahahha!” 

They both rolled their eyes. As if they weren't already circling the floor, trying to capture as many faces as possible, scanning for Hydra agents among all the glitterati and celebrities. According to Phil's secret informant, there should be more than a few. Hydra had been planning something big for months and were using this gala as cover to brief their west coast operatives. 

“Oh, I see you there, Strucker,” Tony cooed. “And you too, Zemo. Oooo, hey Nat, look to your left a little?” 

Nat spun them slightly and Steve caught a glimpse of Rumlow, looking just as uncomfortable in his tuxedo as Steve felt. And for every one he recognized there were probably three more that he didn't. 

“What do you know, this party _is_ mandatory for Hydra agents,” Clint said. “Do you think they have company picnics, too?” 

“Probably,” Natasha whispered. “I bet it's a potluck in the parking lot. Hydra's too evil to provide hot dogs and hamburgers.” 

“OK, kids,” Tony said briskly. “I think that's it for this crowd. You've got about 12 minutes of battery left, so you'd better get a look at the wallflowers and barflies.” 

Nat stepped back, making sure to step on his toes one more time. “I'm sorry, honey bunches, but I think I need to powder my nose,” she said. 

“Of course, choochy-oochy face,” Steve said brightly. Nat's eyelid twitched and he knew he'd be paying for that one later. Totally worth it, though. 

They split up, Nat going check out the bathrooms, while Steve made his way over to the bar. It was crowded, so let his eyes flick from face to face, trying to capture as many as he could. 

Well, that was the plan anyway. 

Instead, his gaze kept getting caught on one of the servers - a man, tall, brunet, with longish hair. His face was plain, almost nondescript, but he was well built. _Very_ well built. 

Even so, Steve wasn't sure what kept attracting his attention. After all, this was LA; gym rats were a dime a dozen. But there was something about him, something about the way he moved. Smooth and confident, handling the silver tray of champagne glasses as if it were an extension of his arm. He rippled through the crowd like smoke over water. It seemed almost familiar... 

“Umm, Steve?” Tony's voice made him start. “I can see why Mr. HotBod Waiter caught your eye, but tick-tock, tick-tock.” 

“Yeah, sorry,” Steve muttered. He quickly made his way to the bar and took a seat on the far corner, the better to scan the faces of everyone crowded up front. He'd just finish up here and then they could get to the really hard- 

“Vodka martini,” a voice next to him called to the bartender, making him jump. “Can you believe the asshole wants it shaken, not stirred?” 

Geez, dancing with Nat must have rattled him more than he'd thought. How else could he have let a waiter sneak up on him like that? 

“Excuse me,” Mr. HotBod waiter said, leaning past Steve to deposit empty glasses behind the bar. 

“No problem,” Steve said. His eyes trailed down the waiter's muscular back to where his black pants were stretched sinfully tight across his- 

“Ask him for his number,” Clint said loudly, making him wince. 

“Yeah, Cap,” Tony chimed in. “All work and no play makes Steve a dull boy.” 

“Do it, Do it,” Clint chanted. 

“Who is Steve doing?” Natasha asked. 

“Some hot waiter at the bar,” Tony said helpfully. 

Steve jerked his hand up, muting his earbud. He was going to kill them. He had the skills. No one would ever find the bodies. 

“Are you alright?” Mr. HotBod asked. Seeing him up close Steve revised his opinion. His face might have been ordinary, but his eyes – his eyes were a brilliant, icy blue. 

“Do you need me to call a cab?” Mr. HotBod asked, and Steve realized he hadn't answered his first question. Geez, what the hell kind of secret agent was he? How'd he let a pair of pretty eyes distract him so much? 

“I'm fine,” Steve said. “Just a little, ah, crowded in here is all.” 

“Mmm,” the waiter hummed, agreeing with him. Although Steve got the feeling he wasn't agreeing about the size of the crowd. Not with the way he was skimming his eyes over Steve. He could practically feel them on his skin. 

The bartender reappeared, martini in hand, and the waiter slid it onto his tray in one smooth motion. He turned, giving Steve a wink over his shoulder as he melted back into the crowd. 

Steve gave a sigh and turned his earbud back on. Better get it over with. 

“Awww, no,” Clint said. “You let him get away.” 

“Cap's got no game,” Tony said sadly. “We've failed him as a team.” 

“Can we stick to the job?” Steve muttered. 

“I suppose if we must,” Tony quipped. “And... that's it for the cameras. You guys are cleared for part two.” 

“Thank God,” Steve sighed. He made his way through the ballroom and out the side door. Natasha fell in beside and they made their way toward the elevators. According to their informant, what they were looking for was in one of the executive suites. A quick bit of safe-cracking and Steve could get out of this formal wear hell. 

The elevator came to a stop and Steve popped the button on his jacket and drew his Walther PPK. Nat ruffled her hair, and ran a finger over her lower lip, smearing her lipstick just a little. She opened her clutch purse and left it dangling by the small strap on her wrist. 

“Ready?” 

“Ready.” 

The doors opened and Nat walked out first, Steve trailing behind, keeping his gun low. 

Nat reach the suite and put her ear to the door. Steve took a deep breath. The way the suites were laid out, clearing it could be tricky. If they were lucky, any guards would be the main sitting area. But if not... 

Steve nodded, and Nat quickly swiped one of Tony's universal key cards over the lock. It flashed green and Nat quickly shoved the door open and staggered through. 

“Hey!” Steve heard a man's startled shout. 

“Oh,” Nat slurred, “this isn't the bathroom.” Then she giggled, high and bright. 

“Oh, man,” Clint sighed. “I wish I could see this.” Steve had to agree. Watching Nat in action was always awesome. 

“No, it's not,” a different voice in the suite said. “Get out.” 

“Oh, but I really need to go-oo,” Nat said plaintively. 

“Well, you can't go here, lady.” 

“It's OK,” Nat said. “Let me just-” 

Steve heard the 'zap, zap' of a pair of stun disks and he ducked around the door frame. Nat, of course, had everything well in hand. Two goons were out cold in the sitting/TV area, one slumped on the floor, the other in his chair. Steve quickly shut the door and flipped the security latch. 

Nat was already opening the door to the kitchen area, her gun in hand, while Steve quickly checked the closet. 

“Clear.” 

“Clear.” 

They both stopped at the closed bedroom door. Nat pulled another of Tony's gadgets out of her bag. Steve had seen it crack a Glenn-Rieder in less than 2 minutes. A hotel safe should be child's play. 

Steve dropped his free hand on the doorknob. At Nat's nod he swung the door open. 

There was someone sleeping in the bed. 

Well, that was unexpected. Shouldn't all the Hydra bigwigs be downstairs? 

He glanced at Nat, but she just shrugged. 

Steve kept his eyes and gun trained on the sleeping figure. Nat quietly moved one of the paintings and opened the panel that hid the safe. Almost instantly there was a soft beep from the safecracker. Well, that was really was fast. 

“It's not locked,” Nat hissed. What? Steve tensed all over. Was this all a trap? 

He reached out and snatched the covers off of the figure on the bed. 

It was a Hydra bigwig, no doubt about it. Dr. Arnold Brown, one of Hydra's lead biochemists lay in the bed, a bullet hole placed neatly between his eyes. From the stippling it had been done at close range, probably with a silencer. 

“Well, fuck,” Nat said loudly. Steve instantly swung his gun up, expecting, well, something. What he saw was Nat standing in front of the very _empty_ safe, holding up a silver business card. A blood-red star was embossed in the center. 

“What? What is that?” Steve asked. Nat was already moving, grabbing his arm and hustling him out of the room. He could hear Tony and Clint's voices in his earbud, demanding to know what was going on. 

Nat shook her head and hustled them back toward the elevator. Once the doors were closed she sighed, shoulders dropping. 

“The safe was cracked,” she said for Tony and Clint's benefit. “Our intel is gone and Dr. Brown is dead.” 

“Exit plan Delta?” Clint asked. 

“No,” Nat looked up at Cap. “No, I don't think so,” she drawled. She hit the close button on the panel, keeping the doors from opening. 

Oh, shit. Steve knew that tone of voice. “Nat, we need to get out of here.” 

“Not just yet,” Nat smirked. “Our mission is a bust, but that doesn't mean we can't salvage _something._ ” 

“Nat...” Steve tried to glare. He didn't know why he bothered. He knew it was useless. 

There's no reason the night has to be a total failure,” Nat said smoothly. “Let's go get that waiter's number, hmm? 

“Yes!” Clint crowed. “Go, get 'em, Cap!” 

“Listen to the lady, Cap,” Tony said. “After all, you haven't gotten laid in so long it's practically a national emergency.” 

Yep, _dismembered_ , dead and buried. Fury would understand. Hell, he might even give him a promotion. 

“It hasn't been _that_ -” Steve stopped himself as Natasha narrowed her eyes in warning. OK, maybe it had been a while. It was just hard finding people to date when you were a covert operative. 

“OK, OK,” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “We'll look for the guy. But just for five minutes? After that, we're out of there.” 

Nat's smile was triumphant as she let the doors open and dragged Steve back to the ballroom. Quickly scanning the crowd, he felt just the tiniest thrill of anticipation. Maybe the guys were right. Maybe this would be a good thing. 

Steve moved through the crowd, looking for the smooth grace that had caught his eye the first time. But there was nothing. Maybe he was on break? 

“I'll check the kitchen,” Nat said. “Tony?” 

“Just a sec,” Tony said. “Let me check the hotel cams.” 

They spit up, but after a few minutes it was clear that Mr. HotBod was gone. _Well, shit._

“Let's go,” Steve snapped. “Car, now.” For once, there wasn't any backchat on the coms. 

Nat had the car idling at the curb and he slid in fast. “Just drive,” he said lowly, daring her to say something. Nat nodded and pulled away fast, the engine growling in protest. 

God damn it. _First someone snakes their intel, now he looked like an idiot..._ No, _first was agreeing to wear this stupid tux._ Nothing ever went right when he was in a tux. He pulled out his earbud and yanked off his tie, leaning up to stuff them in his pocket. 

At least, he meant to. His fingers froze as they touched something that shouldn't be there. Something plastic and smooth. And something else... He carefully drew them out into the light. 

A thumb drive and business card. 

He angled the card toward the window, and the red star in the center almost seemed to wink at him every time a streetlight flashed by. 

  
  



	2. For Your Eyes Only

  


“So anyway, the new insurance cards have this biometric reader-” Debbie from HR said. 

“Uh, huh, right,” Steve nodded, trying to disengage. If it had been Accounting Debbie he wouldn't have been so polite, but HR Debbie was nice. 

“I've got to go. Debriefing, you know how it is.” He shrugged and all but ran down the hall. He took the stairs two at a time. He was early, way early, but just once he'd like to beat - 

He jerked the conference room door open and was hit by the smell of fresh coffee. _God damn it._

“Good morning, Steven,” Natasha said serenely. She was already sitting at the head of the table, in the Big Chair, coffee cup in hand. 

“Good morning, Natasha, you're here early,” Steve said brightly, taking the seat to her right, in one of the perpetually broken chairs. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of seeing him try and fail to adjust the height. Even if his knees felt like they were up by his ears. 

“Not really. In fact, I saw you pull into the garage just ahead of me,” Natasha used her tiptoes to scoot her chair closer to the table. 

“Wait. Did you-” Steve snapped his mouth closed. He was not going to bother asking if Nat had enlisted Nice Debbie into delaying him. He knew the answer would only disappoint him. 

He took a deep breath, wishing he'd stopped for coffee. Ask Shield procurement for a nuclear warhead? No problem. Try to get a decent coffee machine? Pshh. Tony had an espresso machine in his lab, of course, but no one was foolish enough to try and use it. Rumor had it that it was booby-trapped six ways to Sunday. 

Steve got out his tablet, setting it in front of him, flexing his fingers to work out the stiffness. His knuckles were still a little bruised from last nights bout with the punching bag. He glanced over and caught Nat looking at his hands, gauging the dark circles under his eyes. He waited for her to say something, but all she did was take another long, slow sip of coffee. 

The door opened abruptly, Tony and Bruce spilling into the room. They were already in full debate mode and Steve felt his stomach sink. If those two were fifteen minutes early to a meeting the world _had_ to be ending. 

“-yes, but you have to admit it's a genius plan,” Tony argued. 

“But it's _evil_ ,” Bruce threw his free hand in the air. The other was clutching a stack of folders. “You know, bad, diabolical, despicable?” 

“I didn't say it wasn't _evil,_ ” Tony was already bringing up the rooms holographic display screens. “It's just-” 

“You admire genius, where ever you find it,” Nat said. 

“Yes! Exactly,” Tony pointed at her. 

“Which is why Fury put you on the super-villain watch list,” Bruce muttered. 

“Damn right he did,” Tony said smugly. 

Steve let his shoulders drop and took a deep breath. If they were bantering, then there was still time to save the world. 

“So,” Tony flicked files to each of their tabletop displays. “Where should we start? Hydra's plan for world domination? Or Cap's hottie?” The display on the big screen flickered between Hydra's logo and a close up of the waiter. 

“With Hydra-” Steve said. 

“Steve's crush,” Nat said at the same time. 

“Sorry Cap, she's in the Big Chair,” Tony shrugged. “Sex-on-legs it is.” 

Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Well, he might as well get it over with. How bad could it be? 

“The good news,” Tony chirped, “is that _somebody_ got a lot of really great close-ups.” He snapped his fingers, and the footage from Steve's contact lens camera began to play on the big screen. First, tracking the waiter through the crowd, then closer once he was at the bar. The camera zoomed in on his ass as he bent over, and lingered. And lingered some more. Steve felt his face go hot. Had he really been staring that much? It took him longer than it should have to realize that Tony had frozen the picture. 

“Tony,” Bruce growled. 

“Ah, Brucie-bear,” Tony sighed. “You never let me have any fun.” The playback skipped ahead and froze so they had a clear image of the waiters face. 

“Any hits from facial recognition?” Steve asked, eyes never leaving the big screen. Even in a shaky photo, those blue eyes were mesmerizing. 

“And that's the bad news,” Tony made an adjustment and the picture flashed into a dark blue and red negative image. Telltale silver sparks shot along the waiter's hairline, down over his jaw. 

“Shit,” Steve sat up straighter. “He's wearing a Veil.” He knew the mystery man had planted the drive on him. This just proved it. Somehow, it made Steve feel better, knowing he hadn't lost sleep over nothing. 

“But wait! There's more,” Tony said dramatically. The view zoomed out to include the waiter's hand. There on the tips of his fingers – the same fizzing sparks of a nano-mask. 

“I thought nano-masks didn't work on hands?” Steve said. 

“They don't,” Nat frowned. “Well, not ours, anyway. Someone's ahead of Shield.” 

“It explains the lack of fingerprints on the thumb drive,” Bruce said. 

“So, no prints, no face, and his hair is long enough to cover his ears,” Nat sounded impressed. They all knew ears were as distinctive as fingerprints. Whoever he was, their mystery man was good - very, very good. 

“So all we've got is that he's tall, white, with an athletic build? That's just great,” Steve leaned back, swearing when his knee bumped the underside of the table. 

“Well, there is one other thing,” Bruce said. The picture changed to a full body shot. Steve saw it immediately. The man was only wearing a Veil on his _left_ hand. 

“If he's only hiding one hand, there has to be something worth hiding,” Nat said. 

“Scars?” Tony asked. “Tattoos? Oo, maybe he has 'EWMN' across his knuckles.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “What about the business card he left? What do we have on that?” 

“Nothing,” Bruce shrugged. “No prints, and it's a common card. We're having Jarvis search for online orders, but so far...” 

“Why leave a card at all?” Tony asked. “Why kill Brown? Why give us the drive?” 

Steve sighed. He knew it was a rhetorical question. Without more information they had no way to judge his motives. 

“OK, let's move on,” Steve said firmly. 

“Yes, absolutely,” Tony said. He clicked over to a picture of the waiter winking over his shoulder. “Thanks to Steve's crush we have what appears to be a copy of Hydra's instructions to their West Coast operation.” 

“Can we be sure he didn't tamper with the information?” Natasha sat up from where she'd been slouching in the chair. 

“As far as I can tell, it's the real deal,” Tony said. He suddenly looked very tired. “Do you want the Good News or the Bad News-” 

The conference room door opened to the sound of crashing and cursing. 

Clint wobbled in, a crutch under one arm, trying and failing not to spill his coffee. “Little help here?” He mumbled plaintively around the bag clenched in his teeth. 

Tony sprang into action, rescuing the coffee. 

“Thanks!” Clint said brightly once he'd put the bag on the table. “Sorry I'm late. What I miss?” 

“We just finished talking about Steve's future husband,” Natasha said, grabbing a pastry out of the bag. “But I guess we can go over it one more time.” 

_God damn it._ Steve reached over and grabbed Clint's coffee away from Tony, and snatched the bag of pastries away from Nat. He took a huge drink of the coffee, ignoring Clint's outraged sputtering. If he hadn't earned it wearing that stupid tux all night, he sure as hell was earning it now. 

~~~ 

_Go! Go! Go!_

Steve swam back into consciousness with the words still echoing in his brain, and the sadly all-too-familiar feeling of being manacled to a table. 

It had all been going so well, too. Until Hydra's reinforcements had shown up. 

So, time for Shield's prisoner protocols: Points before Panic, Delay and Deny... Easy peasy. He could do this. 

At least Natasha had gotten away with the data and samples – the last thing he'd seen she'd been racing away on his bike. 

Right before the tranq darts hit him. 

He kept his breath even, taking stock. He was naked, which was unfortunate since the metal underneath him was freezing cold. But the room itself was warm – wherever he was, it had central heating. That was something, right? He gave himself a point for positive thinking. And another point for not trying to guess as to _why_ the table needed to be refrigerated. _Nope, nu-uh, not going to think about it, la, la, la..._

He slowly stretched his finger down toward his thumb, feeling for the pick wire inserted under his skin. It was still there, but fat lotta good it was going to be against manacles. Who even used manacles anymore anyway? 

Well, he supposed he had to give them credit for learning from their mistakes. The last time he'd been captured by Hydra he'd gotten loose within half an hour and blown up their Berlin headquarters. This time there were no handcuffs he could pick and no clothes meant none of Tony's special gadgets either. What he wouldn't give for his pen-grenade or laser-watch right now. 

He had no idea how long he'd been out. Long enough for his back to stiffen, and his bruises to start to ache. Which meant his team should be here any minute. Even if they'd moved him out of Zola's Kentucky facility, he had a tracker in his ankle. _Of course, with his luck, the room was probably shielded..._ He shook his head slightly and subtracted a point. 

OK, being chained to a table was bad, but it wasn't _that_ bad. A little humiliating, maybe – especially once Tony and Clint found him. He could just hear the jokes now. 

Yeah, maybe he should try and find a way out of this before they showed up. 

He carefully opened his eyes, and then had to blink hard. 

Standing at the end of the table was what looked like an industrial laser. 

Pointed right between his spread-eagle legs. 

_What the hell?_ He started to sweat, despite the chill of the table. He pulled a little harder at the manacles, even though he knew it was futile. _OK, Don't panic, don't panic... fuck._ He subtracted a point for panic. 

He froze at the sound of footsteps and slumped, trying to look unconscious. 

“Ah, you are awake. Excellent!” Oh, goodie - just what this day needed. Dr. Zola. 

Steve opened his eyes, trying hard not to look at the giant laser. Zola had brought a goon with him who took up position next to the door. 

Zola busied himself at some sort of control console, and an array of camera's stationed around the room turned toward the table. He came toward the laser and nudged it just a hair to the left. 

“Yes, yes,” Zola muttered. “I think that will do.” 

He flicked a switch and the laser came to life with a whir. A bright blue beam shot out and struck the table down at Steve's feet. His legs gave an involuntary jerk against the manacles. 

“This is a pretty fancy set up,” Steve said blandly. “Do you expect me to talk?” 

“Why, No, Mr. Rogers! I expect you to die!” Zola smiled the blue of the laser reflecting off his glasses. 

“Surely there are easier ways to kill me?” Steve shot a look at Zola, keeping his breath even. _Don't look at the laser, don't look at the laser..._

“Oh, of course, of course,” Zola said. He gave a pointed glance to the armed guards. “I could have just shot you. But this is so much more... entertaining.” 

Zola leaned in, his fat face eclipsing Steve's view of the laser. “You see, Mr. Rogers, for me this is more than a study of pain or fear. It's a,” he chortled a little, “little hobby of mine. And thanks to the cameras I'll be able to savor your last moments for years to come.” 

“Have you thought about bird watching?” Steve asked hopefully. 

Zola leaned back and ran his gaze possessively over Steve's body, making him feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. 

“You do know what will happen when the laser reaches you, yes?” 

Steve knew. He wished he didn't. The laser would cauterize as it went, and as slow as it was moving, his death would probably come from shock. With his training, that was something that could take a very long time. 

“Ah, I see that you do,” Zola said. He stepped back and gave the laser's chassis a fond pat, admiring the blue beam, now an inch closer to Steve's naked groin. 

“Well, as pleasant as this has been, I'm afraid I have another engagement,” Zola said. 

“You're not going to stay and watch?” Steve could feel the table underneath him growing warmer down by his shins. 

“Oh, no,” Zola mewed in distaste. He leaned in to whisper “I'm a vegetarian, you know. I find the smell of cooked flesh... distasteful.” He leaned back and patted Steve's arm. 

“What about Bob there?” Steve nodded toward the guard. “He doesn't mind the smell?” 

“You know, I never asked,” Zola looked confused for a moment, then he shook his head. “It doesn't matter. It's not as if I can leave you alone. With your skills, you might find a way to escape, and then where would we be?” 

“Oh, and Mr. Rogers?” He paused on his way toward the door to call over his shoulder. “You needn't bother hoping for rescue. Your red-headed companion has been, shall we say, detained? And your tracker is quite useless, here in this shielded facility.” 

The door closed behind him with a thud and the sound of a heavy lock engaging. 

Between Steve's legs, the table was getting hotter, and he could feel more than hear the refrigeration unit trying to compensate. 

He let his head slump back and stared at the ceiling. There had to be a way out of this. Of course, even if he got off the table, that still left Bob guarding the door. From the way he was eyeing the laser's progress, Steve had a feeling Bob wasn't going to be bothered by the smell. 

“So, Bob...” Steve said brightly. 

“It's Frank.” 

“Frank, then,” Steve continued. “Look, I know I'm the enemy. And you have no reason to listen to anything I say. But do you know what Hydra is planning? The ramifications?” 

“Don't know, don't care,” Frank shrugged. “I'm just here to get paid - well, that and watch you get cut in half the long way.” He smirked as a shower of sparks landed on Steve's knee, making him flinch. 

_So, no help from Bob, then._

He flexed his hips, trying to pull his legs as far from the laser as he could. He took a deep breath, feeling the sweat run down his back, despite the cold of the table. As long as Natasha got away. That's what was important. He hung on to that thought. Because once she got the samples to Bruce, he'd find a way to stop Hydra's multi-phasic bioweapon. If his death was the price they had to pay, well, then - 

A distant explosion rattled the facility. The lights and the laser flickered once before coming back on. _Oh, thank God. They'd found him._

Bob took three steps back from the door, bringing his machine pistol up. 

The lights flickered again, then shut off completely, and the laser died with a whine. Emergency lighting came on, focused on the doorway and the table, casting the rest of the room into darkness. 

Steve slumped in his restraints. He was never going to give Clint grief about showing up late with Starbucks ever again. 

A loud click sounded from the control panel, and Steve heard the sound of a generator. The laser surged back on, the blue light blinding after it's absence. 

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Steve shouted. 

Bob cut his eyes toward Steve, then back to the door as another, closer, explosion rang out. The sound of gunfire rattled nearby. 

“Are you going to see what that is?” Steve called. “You should go see what that is.” 

Bob licked his lip, then backed up behind the console. He crouched down and trained his gun on the door, just as it was blown off its hinges. It flew through the room, clipping the edge of the laser. Steve jerked up as far as he could. The laser beam was aimed at his thigh now, and it was closer, much closer than was comfortable. 

“Nat! One guard, on your left!” 

Bob raised his gun, just as something was tossed into the room. 

_Flash-bang._

Steve squinted his eyes shut just as the room exploded in light and sparks. He heard the thud of fists, the clatter of a gun hitting the floor. 

He opened his eyes to see Bob wrestling with a man, and for a second he thought it was Clint. Then the two of them moved into the pool of light by the door. 

It wasn't Clint. 

It was his mystery man. 

He was wearing a different face, but Steve had seen that body in his dreams. Slipping away from Bob's knife, spinning one of his own, he fought almost like Natasha, as if dealing death were a dance. 

And then his eyes caught on Steve, and just for a second, he froze. Bob didn't – and his knife went slicing across mystery man's forehead. Blue sparks fizzed along his jaw, across his cheeks, and the next time he spun into the light he was wearing another face. His _real_ face. 

Bob dropped like a stone, knife in his neck. 

His rescuer took a step toward the table, then stopped, looking toward the ceiling. What the hell? Steve couldn't see exactly where the laser was, but he could feel the heat from the melted table. He swore he could smell hair burning. 

“Ahh..” Steve cleared his throat and tried again. “A little help here? Please?” 

“Don't worry, princess. I'll save you,” he sing-songed, stepping over to the console. 

“I don't think you need the off switch,” Steve panted. “Just move the laser.” 

“Geez, give me a second. I just need to...” 

Steve jerked his leg as hard as he could. _Shit, shit..._ Above him, the cameras all powered down, red lights going off. A second later the laser shut off too. 

Steve slumped back on the table. Fuck that was close. He took a moment to just breath. Mystery Man came around the console, and up close Steve could see just how attractive he was. There was something familiar about that jaw, those cheekbones... 

“Wait, let me guess, Zola?” 

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “Thanks for the rescue.” 

“Any time, princess," the guy shrugged. He leaned his hip on the table, eyes raking over Steve. 

“Do I know you?” Steve felt his face go hot. He hadn't been bothered by the fact he was naked - right up until now. “Have we met before? You seem familiar.” 

“No,” his rescuer said, running his fingers along the edge of the table, closer and closer to Steve's leg. “Not officially, anyway.” 

“Officially?” There, he didn't stammer. That had to be worth a point. 

“Last April? In Monte Carlo? You tried flirting with me at the baccarat table. I felt bad I couldn't take you up on it, but I had to fix Dr. Nix. Get it? Fix Nix?” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

“That was terrible,” Steve groaned. “Not the hit - that was a thing of beauty.” And it was. His team had spent _days_ trying to get close to Dr. Nix, AIM's chief scientist. Only to have a sniper take him out with a shot that Clint _swore_ was impossible. 

“Thanks,” the world's best sniper leaned closer, biting his lower lip, eyes heated. 

Steve started breathing faster. His mystery man was competent, gorgeous, funny _and_ slowly brushing his fingers up and down the outside of Steve's leg. 

“I'm Rogers,” Steve blurted. 

“I can see that,” the guy deliberately looked at Steve's groin. 

_“Steve_ Rogers,” Steve rolled his eyes. “And you are?” 

“Well, _Rogers,_ you can call me the Winter Soldier.” 

“Really?” Steve snorted. “Your parents named you that?” 

The Winter Soldier leaned closer, and Steve could smell cordite and sweat, the copper tang of blood. Closer still, until his breath was tickling across Steve's ear. “Bucky,” he whispered. “You can call me Bucky.” 

Steve sucked in a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed, pulse ticking up. _Oh, God... OK, OK... Don't get hard, don't get hard... Shit._ He was getting hard.He couldn't help it. 

“You know,” Bucky stood back, and his hand landed on Steve's thigh. He started rubbing a little circle, right where the laser had been aiming. “It would have been a shame to mar something as pretty as this.” 

“Ah,” Steve jerked his hands against the manacles. “Are you going to let me out of these?” Smooth, Rogers, real smooth. 

“Hmm? Oh, no, I think I like you like this,” Bucky lifted his hand, and Steve's leg jumped, trying to follow. 

_Fuck it._ Two could play this game. 

“Do you like it enough to do something about it?” Steve flexed against his restraints, bringing his chest up off the table and he had the satisfaction of seeing Bucky's smile falter. 

“Did you have something in mind?” Bucky growled, hand dropping onto Steve's chest, gently pushing him down. “Hmmm, Steve?” 

“I'm sure something will come to me,” Steve panted as Bucky's hand trailed lower, his fingers circling Steve's bellybutton. 

“Is that the only thing you want to come?” Bucky's smile would have looked at home on a shark. 

“Oh, God,” Steve rolled his head, tugging on his restraints. 

He wasn't sure how his day had turned into _this_ but, God, he loved being a spy. 

“No, it's Bucky,” Bucky smirked, “remember?” His fingers wandered over Steve, everywhere but where Steve wanted them. It was torture. It was heaven. 

“Well,” Steve licked his lips. “You could maybe help stroke my... memory.” Oh, that was good. If he was still keeping track he'd give himself a million points for that one. 

“Why, princess-” 

A muffled explosion echoed through the base. 

Steve bit back a groan. _Shit. It had been going so well, too._

“Well, fuck,” Bucky growled, slowly taking his hand away. 

“OK, fine, let me out,” Steve sighed. 

Instead Bucky pulled a silver business card out of his pocket and set the corner of the card on Steve's knee. He slowly drew it up Steve's leg, hesitating next to his rock hard cock. 

“Don't you dare,” Steve hissed. 

Bucky wiggled his eyebrows and drew the card up further. Over Steve's chest, up his neck. _How could such a tiny thing feel so electric?_

He trailed he card over Steve's lips, and then Bucky leaned closer, moving in for a kiss. 

Steve craned his neck, trying to meet him. He _needed_ that kiss. He could feel Bucky's breath on his lips, and _Oh, god-_

Bucky pulled back, just enough to kiss Steve's forehead instead. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Steve shuddered. If they'd just had five more minutes.... 

“Next time, sweetheart.” 

Bucky pulled the neck of his black turtleneck up, covering the lower half of his face. He gave Steve a wink before he sprinted for the door. A graceful leap over Dead Bob and he was gone. 

Steve lay there trying to breathe. _Holy fuck, that had been so_ hot. 

And then he realized what that explosion must mean. 

_“Shit, shit, shit.”_ He willed his erection down, but with all the adrenaline and teasing? Yeah, it wasn't going anywhere. 

Maybe he'd get lucky and it would take them a while to- 

Tony, Clint, and Nat burst into the room, guns drawn. Steve saw them size up the room – Dead Bob on the floor, the table he was tied to sitting in a pool of light. 

“Whoah, Cap,” Tony whistled. “Grower, not a show-er, hey? You're making me feel inadequate.” 

Steve thunked his head on the table. 

“Hey, Steve,” Clint said cheerfully. “Remind me to hook you up with my equipment guy. He makes the best rigs. Since you're obviously into that sort of thing.” 

“I'm pretty sure it wasn't just the restraints,” Natasha smirked, peeling the silver card off of Steve's forehead. 

“I swear,” Clint held up a hand. “I am absolutely, positively going to be on time for _this_ debriefing.” 

The laser was still pointing at him... Steve closed his eyes and prayed for the power to come back on. 

~ ~ ~ 

  


  
  



	3. You Only Live Twice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick warning - a hydra goon uses a homophobic slur toward the end of this chapter

  


Steve slowed the bike, pulling into an alley between warehouses. 

Something here was very wrong. 

At this time of night, this area should have been deserted. It's what he'd been counting on. Yet he'd passed at least a dozen people - 

As soon as he pulled off his helmet he heard it. 

_Thump,thump,thumpa...Shoshosho,thumpa,thumpa..._

Music, the sounds of laughter and the smell of weed drifted in the brackish air. 

_Oh, no. No, no..._

He clicked the anti-theft device on his bike and cautiously made his way to the mouth of the alley. He paused to double check the address Phil had sent him, but this was the place all right. 

According to Phil's secret informant, Phase Two of Hydra's plan was taking place right now, in _that_ warehouse. The one lit up like a nuclear powered Christmas tree. 

OK, all right. This didn't have to be a bad thing. With this many people, he wouldn't need to break in. He could just blend in instead. 

He took a deep breath of the humid night air, waiting for the next group of partygoers to move past. He fell in behind them, keeping his head down, as they joined the line snaking back from a set of double doors. A bouncer was manning a velvet rope, letting people in a few at a time. 

What the hell could Hydra be doing here? According to Bruce, their bio-weapon was going to be dispersed in locations that would infect millions. Not at a spring break party in Miami. 

He tapped his foot, waiting as the line jumped in fits and starts. The closer they got, the louder the music, and he could see impact tremors dancing on the puddles in the gutter. 

_Ha, impact tremors._ If only it was a T-rex, he could just shoot a T-rex. How the hell was he supposed to find and stop Hydra in the middle of a rave? 

Did they still call them raves? 

A burst of laughter made him glance up, his eyes scanning the crowd. Ahead of him was a sea of bright clothes, a rainbow of hair colors. A lot of skin and a lot of tattoos... 

_Oh, shit._ He looked down at his dark khaki pants and dark blue shirt. He'd come dressed for breaking and entering. Dark enough to be camo, dressy enough to bluff civilians. 

And it wasn't just the clothes... 

He knew thirty-two wasn't that old but had he _ever_ been that young? They all had such bright, open faces, such carefree laughter... 

He was going to stand out like an emu in a flock of parrots. 

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't need to shoot a dinosaur. He _was_ a dinosaur. 

_OK. OK. New plan._

He left the line, making his way past the crowd, scanning faces, being obvious about it. Once he got to the front, he'd bribe the bouncers. Tell them it was a family emergency and he was looking for his niece- 

“Daddy!” a voice called loudly. A familiar voice. 

Steve's head snapped up – and _dear_ God _in Heaven._

_“Daddy!_ There you are. I've been looking all _over_!” Steve could _hear_ the pout in his voice. 

The Winter Soldier was skipping toward him. 

Steve blinked hard. You'd think the skintight leather pants would have made it impossible. But nope – he was _actually_ fucking skipping. 

Steve's eyes skated upward, taking in the translucent white shirt- 

The club lights caught on Bucky's face. The same face Steve may or may not have been sketching obsessively every night for the last two weeks. 

The same cheekbones, the cut of his jaw. Those icy blue eyes. Except- 

Steve swallowed hard. 

The makeup would have been bad enough – eyes highlighted with blue shadow and black liner; his lips a glossy pink. 

Nope – the fucker was wearing a Veil again. 

Only instead of giving himself a different face, he'd made his own _younger._ At least ten years younger, maybe twelve... 

The fires of dread opened a pit in Steve's stomach. 

“Oh, Daddy, you _came_!” the Winter Soldier twittered. He plastered himself to Steve's side, his grin wide and wicked. 

_Daring_ Steve to back down. 

_Well, fuck that._

He was an Agent of Shield. He trained with Natasha Romanov. He'd been an Army Captain and awarded the Distinguished Service Medal. This was one dare he wasn't backing down from. He took a deep breath, letting it settle. 

Two could play this game. 

“Of course, baby,” Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky and pulled him in tight. “You know I'll always come for you.” 

“Hmmm,” Bucky slumped against him. This close Steve could smell the bubblegum of his lipgloss. “Promises, promises.” 

Bucky took two steps back, eyeing Steve up and down. His pout took on epic proportions. 

“Oh, Daddy,” he frowned. “Look at you. Did you come straight from work?” He started unbuttoning Steve's shirt, tis-king under his breath. 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” Steve sighed dramatically. “But if I don't work hard I can't buy you all those things you like so much.” 

Bucky slipped Steve's shirt off, leaving him in his skintight blue under-armor. 

“I do like pretty things,” Bucky said slowly, voice dropping back into his normal range. He stepped in close, wrapping the shirt around Steve's waist. He slowly knotted the sleeves, making sure to trail the back of his hands over the front of Steve's pants as he worked. He stepped back, meeting Steve's eyes, and Steve could _see_ him slip back into character. 

“Come on, Daddy,” he grabbed Steve's hand and tugged him toward the door. “You promised me dancing!” 

He moved straight to the people next in line, dragging Steve along like a balloon on a string. 

“Hi! Hi!” Bucky bounced up and down on his toes. “Is it OK if we cut?” He clutched onto Steve's arm, leaning close. “My boyfriend has to be at work _**so**_ _early._ ” 

He spun Steve toward the door before they got an answer. Bucky leaned back just a little, sucking in his stomach and Steve watched, mesmerized, as his fingers trailed down and into the waistband of his oh-so-tight leather pants. 

“No pockets,” Bucky shrugged, finally pulling out an ID card with a flourish. He flashed it at the bouncer, too quick to see, then snatched it back in the most suspicious way possible. 

Steve closed his eyes. That terrible feeling of dread was back. 

“Let's try that again?” the bouncer did not sound amused. 

Steve opened his eyes, watching Bucky reluctantly pass over the ID. Even from here he could see it was a badly made fake. Just like someone underage would use to go clubbing. 

The bouncer looked up from the card and glared at Steve. 

“Oh, come on,” Bucky threw up his hands. “Look, I'll be 21 next month! What's the big deal?” 

He turned to Steve, batting his eyes and sucking on his lower lip. 

“Fix it, Daddy. Please?” he whined piteously. 

“Yeah, Daddy,” the bouncer sneered. He leaned forward, hand out. “Fix it.” 

“Oh, for God's sake,” Steve muttered. He carefully reached into his pocket, pulling out his money clip, making sure it was disarmed. It was bad enough that he was going to have to put this on his expense report. The last thing he needed was to blow everyone up. 

Steve reluctantly handed over a $100 bill. 

The bouncer just stared at him. 

_Oh, God damn it._ He could hear Bucky snickering behind him. 

Steve peeled two more bills out, shoving them into the bouncer's hand. He closed his fist around the rest the clip, daring him to ask for more. 

“Why, thank you, _Daddy_ ,” the bouncer said brightly. He lifted the rope, motioning them in with a sweep of his arm. 

Steve grabbed Bucky's arm, hustling him through the door. Behind him, he could hear cat-calls and laughter from the crowd, and his face went up in flames. _Jesus, this had_ better _be a Hydra operation._ If he'd just gone through that for nothing... 

Inside the music was even louder, the multi-colored lights flashing randomly. Bucky plastered himself onto Steve's back, wrapping an arm around Steve's chest from behind. 

Steve spun around, putting his palms flat on Bucky's chest, pushing him out of the crowd by the door. Bucky moved with him, following Steve's lead, until his back hit the wall. 

Steve took a step closer, caging Bucky in. This close he could see the beads of sweat along his hairline disappearing under the Veil. 

“Why Daddy,” Bucky bit his lip shyly. “You know I get all tingly when you take control like that.” 

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” Steve growled. 

“Aren't you?” Bucky's pout vanished in an instant, his voice dropping back to its normal range. 

Steve opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Was he enjoying this? 

Strangely enough, he really, really was. 

Usually, his missions involved either mind-numbing boredom or world-ending-panic. He knew the team tried to keep things light, with their mocking and banter. And it helped. It really did. 

But when was the last time work had been _fun_? 

“Steve?” Bucky said softly, concerned. “I can stop-” 

“No, it's fine,” Steve shook his head. It really was. Better than fine. His heart was racing, he was keyed up, ready for anything, but in the best way possible. 

_God, this was going to be_ so _good._

It must have shown on his face, because Bucky brightened all at once, his smile radiant. “Ooo, there's my Daddy,” he crooned. 

Steve surged forward, slotting his leg between Bucky's, grinding _just_ a little. He ran his hands down Bucky's chest, making sure to drag his thumbs over his nipples, visible through the sheer fabric. 

“Is this new, baby boy?” Steve said loudly. “It's quite a change from the black turtleneck you were wearing last time.” 

“Silly Daddy!” Bucky rolled his eyes. “That turtleneck wasn't _black_. It was _dark_ black.” 

“Of course,” Steve nodded. “Silly me.” He leaned in to whisper in Bucky's ear. “So what are we looking for? What's Hydra's play?” 

“Not sure,” Bucky mumbled into the side of his neck. “But I'm pretty sure we'll know it when we see it.” 

“Good enough,” Steve took a step back, and reluctantly let go of Bucky's hips. He wasn't sure how his hands had gotten there, but he missed the feeling as soon as it was gone. 

“Come on, Daddy,” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows. “Let's play.” Grabbing Steve's hand he pulled him into the crowd. The floor was packed with bodies, the air was hot, the music pounding. 

Normally, it would be everything Steve hated. Right now? It was everything he wanted. 

Bucky lead the way into the crush of bodies moving in time to the music. The huge speakers made the very air seem to vibrate. 

Bucky spun around, plastering himself against Steve, throwing his right arm around Steve's neck, his left tossed up into the air. He moved as if the music was a part of him, something in his veins. 

Steve knew there was no way he could come close to that kind of grace. But that was the beauty of it – he didn't have too. 

Daddies didn't have to dance. 

He put his hands on Bucky's hips, losing himself in the moment, the feel of Bucky in his arms. 

Eventually, Bucky leaned back as far as he could, shirt riding up, trusting Steve to keep him from falling. Snapping up, he twinned a leg around Steve's, turning it into a spin, using him as if Steve were his own personal stripper pole. 

Coming around Steve's front again, he put his hands on Steve's shoulders, pushing himself up, until he was wrapping his legs around Steve's chest. Steve braced his hands under Bucky's ass, feeling the muscles bunching even through the tight leather, Bucky's gorgeous abs just inches from his face. He resisted the urge to ruck Bucky's shirt up and press his lips to that tantalizing skin, to lick him like a candy cane. 

Bucky tossed his arms up, and Steve spun them around in a slow twirl. He did it again until his arms ached. As soon as Bucky dropped his hands to Steve's shoulders, he let go, letting Bucky slide down until his feet hit the floor. This close, Steve could see how his eyeliner and shadow had smudged, somehow making him look even more attractive. 

Bucky wound both his arms around him, and it took Steve a second to register what he was feeling. Pressed against his back, Bucky' left arm was unnaturally firm, cooler than the right. 

Well, now he knew _why_ he needed a Veil for it. Or how a Veil could work on it in the first place. It was a prosthetic. 

Bucky arched an eyebrow, head tipped to the side. Waiting for him to say something. 

Steve ran his hands down Bucky's back, the material slick with sweat. He spun him around, pulling him in tight, grinding against him. And oh, how he wished they weren't on the clock. That this could be just for the two of them. 

“Sit-rep?!” Steve said loud enough to be heard over the music. 

He felt Bucky relax, the tension flowing out of his back, and he tossed his left arm back behind Steve's head, pulling it close. He craned his head back and licked the shell of Steve's ear. 

“Hydra. Two Agents tending bar,” Bucky growled. “Possibly more by the exit.” 

“Do you think they'll try and block it?” If Hydra was looking for a mass casualty event, this would be the perfect place. A shooting? No, more likely a fire – the old wooden walls and floor would go up like a tinderbox. A quick glance up showed no sprinklers and there were no windows on the ground floor, either. If Hydra barricaded the exits... 

They needed to get closer, see what Hydra was doing. As if reading his mind, Bucky pulled away. But not before giving his ass one last grind into Steve. 

“Whew!” He pushed his sweaty hair off his face, tucking it behind his ears. “Come on, Daddy. You need to buy me a drink!” 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Steve said, following in Bucky's wake as he danced them off the floor, pushing through the crowd. 

As soon as they got to the bar Bucky leaned into it, throwing a wink at Steve over his shoulder. It was slightly cooler than the dance floor but just as loud. Steve plastered himself along Bucky's back just so he could be heard. Definitely not so he could keep up a slow grind, in time with the music. 

“What are you thinking?” Steve said softly. “Mass casualty?” 

“No. All this? DJ and a dance floor, full bar? Hydra's invested a lot of time and money in this. And speaking of...” He nudged Steve hard in the ribs, and Steve sighed. He pulled out his money clip and handed Bucky a twenty. 

“Thank you, Daddy!” Bucky said brightly, before thrusting it at the nearest bartender. “Hey! Hey! Can I get something pink and fruity?? Oh! With a tiny umbrella?” 

He turned around and flopped his head on to Steve's shoulder, sighing loudly, every inch the spoiled party boy. 

“So what then? Recruitment? Drug dealing?” Steve tugged the edge of Bucky's shirt up enough to get his fingers underneath. “Hydra has to be up to _something_ here.” 

Bucky turned his head, nuzzling Steve's neck, making him shiver. “Fuck, I hope so,” Bucky whined. “Otherwise I squeezed myself into these fucking pants for nothing. Do have any idea how _hot_ these are?” 

“I sure do, baby,” Steve said brightly. “I sure do.” His fingers tightened on Bucky's hips. He did it again, harder, and felt Bucky's eyelashes flutter against his neck. 

“I'm serious, Steve!” Bucky laughed into his collarbone. “I don't know what I was thinking. I swear my balls are fucking melting.” 

Steve laughed and Bucky jerked his head up, pout on full display. 

“Are you laughing at me?” 

“Just a little, sweetheart, just a little,” Steve chuckled. 

Behind them one of the bartenders was moving down the line, slamming red solo cups down on the counter. He was holding them in groups of five, his fingers _inside_ the cups. 

“Well, looks like you were right. With that level of customer service, he _has_ to be Hydra,” Steve shook his head. 

“Hey!” Bucky yelled at the bartenders back. “You forgot my umbrella!” He cautiously picked up the cup, tipping it so Steve could see it was half-full of neon yellow... something. 

Steve took the cup and jiggled it. “Do you think it's poison?” 

“Oh, please,” a girl with green hair next to them snorted. “What did you expect for free? Just be grateful there's any alcohol in it at all.” 

“Free?” Bucky planted a hip on the bar, turning toward the girl. “But he took my money!” 

“Well, then you're an idiot,” Green Hair rolled her eyes. “The ad said _free_ drinks.” 

“Ad?” Steve leaned forward, keeping his arm around Bucky's shoulders. “What ad?” 

“For Hydration?” She pulled out her phone and waved it at them. “Some kind of promotion?” 

“For... Hydration,” Steve said slowly. 

“Yeah,” the girl slurped her drink, nodding her head. “A new cosmetics company? They're passing out samples as you leave. If you agreed to send them feedback, you got a free pass to the party.” 

Bucky turned his head, locking eyes with Steve. 

“Free samples!” Bucky gushed. “Ooo, come on, Daddy!” He used his free hand to grab Steve, pulling him back into the crowd. Behind them, Green Hair girl was saying something, but it was lost in the din. 

Closer to the door, Steve could see the Hydra agents that Bucky had spotted. In black shirts and black jackets, they stood out even more than he did. They were scanning everyone's phone as they left, handing out small, black boxes. 

Bucky dropped Steve's hand and slid to a stop. His drink sloshed dangerously, threatening to spill. 

“One please, my good man!” He waved his left hand under the Hydra agent's nose. 

“Phone,” The Hydra agent sighed, holding up a handheld scanner. 

“Phone?” Bucky scoffed. “You think these pants have room for a _phone_? There's barely any room for my _dick._ ” 

“No phone, no samples,” the Hydra shrugged. He was already reaching past them, to scan the next person in line. 

“But I _love_ makeup,” Bucky said sadly, lip wobbling. Steve sighed, playing his part, already reaching for his money clip. 

“Fucking faggots,” the Hydra agent in the rear muttered. 

“What did you say, Bob?” Steve growled low, stepping forward. He slipped his fingers into his pockets, pulling out a tracer. _Thank you, God, for homophobic Hydra goons._

“You heard me,” Bob stepped closer, and Steve made a grab for his jacket. In a move Natasha would be proud of, he slipped the tracker disc into Bob's pocket. 

The crowd around them started muttering, some moving closer, some moving back, all with their phone's coming up, camera's ready to capture the action. 

Bucky wedged an arm between Steve and Bob, forcing them apart. 

“Now, Steve, be reasonable. I'm sure we if we-” 

Bucky threw his drink in Bob's face, snatching a box off the table. 

“Run, run, run!” Bucky yelled, sprinted, running for the door. 

Steve stumbled a step, then raced after him, heart pounding, barreling through the crowd. 

“That's your plan?! Run?!” _Jesus fucking Christ._

They pelted through the streets, and the rush of night air felt cold after the heat of the club. The sounds of shouts and laughter faded behind them. 

Bucky steered them into an alley, pulling up with a limp. In the faint light from the main street, Steve could see he was wincing. 

“Are you OK?” Steve panted, his manic grin fading into a frown. “Did you-” 

“OH, my God, Steve,” Bucky pulled on the crotch of his pants. “The chaffing.... the chaffing...” He gave a whimper, clutching the box to his chest. “I swear this better be worth it.” 

“Bucky,” Steve lowly, stepped into Bucky's space, closing the gap between them. _God, this had been the best night he'd had in_ ages. 

Bucky leaned in, and Steve's heart jackrabbited. He'd been dreaming of that missed kiss for weeks- 

The sound of shouts and running footsteps echoed from down the street. 

“Shit,” Bucky hissed. He dropped the box and spun them around, pushing Steve back into the shadows, his fingers flying over the shirt knotted around Steve's waist. 

“Bucky? What-” 

Bucky threw Steve's shirt over his own and dropped to his knees. 

He grinned up at Steve his face half hidden in shadow. His makeup was smeared, his hair a tangled sweaty mess. 

He was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. 

“My hair,” Bucky said quickly. “It's too long. You need to-” 

Steve dropped his hands into Bucky's hair, curling his hands in it, trying to make it look shorter. 

Bucky hissed through his teeth, one long exhale... Right before he dropped his forehead onto Steve's half-hard cock. 

Steve's hands flexed tighter and Bucky's breath stuttered. 

“Buck,” Steve heard himself moan. 

Bucky turned his face, rubbing his cheek against the front of Steve's pants, all along the swell of his cock. Even in the dark, he could see Bucky lick his lips. 

_Oh, God..._ He didn't think he'd ever been this hard in his _life_. 

He knew he needed to watch the street. Hydra could find them any second and a fake blowjob might not fool them. 

But not even the sound of voices at the mouth of the alley could tear his eyes from Bucky's face. 

Bucky mumbled something, and Steve could feel his breath through the now damp material of his pants. 

“Whaha?” Steve mumbled. 

“I said, they're gone,” Bucky sat back on his heels, grinning like a maniac. 

“Oh, right,” Steve swallowed hard. “Maybe they'll come back?” 

Bucky clambered to his feet, cursing his pants. Steve could see he was hard, the tight leather showing off an impressive erection. 

Steve surged forward, catching Bucky in his arms, crushing their mouths together. Bucky groaned, thrusting against him, kissing him back. It was clumsy, rushed, and tasted like bubblegum lipgloss. 

It was far and away the best kiss he'd ever had. 

Bucky slowly drew back, giving Steve a string of tiny kisses as he went. 

“Bucky-” 

“Oh, you are too tempting,” Bucky skipped back a step. “But-” 

“I know, I know,” Steve groaned, running a hand over his face. “We're in an alley, Hydra's still around-” 

“And I'm pretty sure if we go any further these pants are _literally_ going to kill me.” Bucky bent over, scooping the box off the ground. 

“Here,” he said, pressing it into Steve's hands. “Whatever Hydra's got in here, I'm sure your people can figure it out.” 

“My people?” Steve clutched the box. “What about your people? At least tell me who you work for. MI6? BND?” 

“Don't ask me questions I can't answer.” He walked backward to the corner, keeping his eyes on Steve, and with a quick wave, he was gone. 

Steve sighed and leaned back against the cool bricks, his lips tasting faintly of bubblegum. 

_Best first date_ ever. 

Even if Bucky had stolen his shirt. 

  
  



	4. The Spy Who Loved Me

  


Steve hesitated, fingers brushing the doorknob. 

It had been three days since his run-in with Bucky at the warehouse. Three long days and two very, very long nights. But he'd known as soon as he'd filed his report he'd have to face this. 

He took a deep breath, then another. He could do this. He'd been trained to withstand torture. _Points before panic, points before panic..._

He turned the knob and pushed the door open, ready to meet his doom. 

A wave of applause broke over him as soon as he stepped into the room. Everyone was here, even Clint, and oh, God... 

He'd known the team was going to tease him. His night at the club with Bucky was the closest he'd come to a real date in years. But he'd never imagined _this._

Cheap, blue, crepe paper streamers were twisted everywhere, vying for space with shiny mylar balloons. More balloons were tied to the arms of the Big Chair, two huge bunches of them. That had Natasha written all over it – she loved cheap decorations. 

A highlight reel of his night at Club Hydra was playing on the big screen. That was obviously Jarvis work. Spliced together from a combination of security camera and cell phone videos, it was really well done. 

But which of his evil geniuses had thought of the giant “It's a Boy!!” banner, or the sheet cake that read “Congratulations?” 

Steve crossed the room to the sound of cheers and party horns, dropping into the Big Chair with a sigh. The balloons tied to the arms bobbed up and down. Up close he could see they had to be Tony's contribution. Each was printed with a different photo of Bucky's very pretty, _very_ young face. 

The clapping trailed off with one final 'Whoo' from Clint and they all took their seats, Bruce trying to scrunch forward in the Chair with No Wheels. 

“Cap, I'd sincerely, sincerely, like to apologize,” Tony leaned over and touched his arm. “If I had known, I would _never_ have accused you of being vanilla.” 

“You know he's wearing a Veil, right?” Steve rolled his eyes. “That's not what he really looks like.” 

“No, it's what he looked like when he was _twelve_ ,” Tony said, tugging on one of the balloons. 

“He doesn't look twelve,” Steve protested. “Twenty maybe, but not twelve. Geez.” 

“Well, I have no problem with Steve robbing the cradle,” Natasha said primly. “It's clearly true love.” 

“How can you tell?” Bruce asked, motioning for Tony to pass the coffee. 

“It's obvious, isn't it?” Natasha said sweetly. “All that dancing and Steve didn't step on his toes _once_.” 

“Yeah,” Tony drawled. “Definitely true love.” He made a coughing sound into his coffee that sounded suspiciously like “Daddy.” 

Steve felt his face go hot, and ducked his head, reaching for the cake knife. If he could just get everyone focused on the sugar and caffeine until Phil conferenced in... 

“I guess Steve just needed the right partner,” Bruce said warmly. He nodded at the screen, to Bucky dancing in Steve's arms. Jarvis had the music turned down, but Steve could just make it out, that bass beat, reminding him how Bucky had felt up against him. He needed to ask Jarvis for a copy- 

He jerked as Clint pulled the cake knife out of his hand. 

“Oh, man,” Clint laughed, grabbing the plates. He cut a huge corner piece for Steve and slid it over. “You've got it _bad_.” 

“I have an incoming call from Agent Coulson,” Jarvis announced, and the video of Steve at the club was replaced with Coulson's face. Phil blinked at them, eyes scanning the conference room. 

“Are you trying to convince Clint he's pregnant?” Coulson deadpanned. “Again?” 

Tony snorted and choked on his coffee. 

“Hey, Boss,” Clint waved his fork cheerfully. “Naw, we're giving Steve grief for his crush. Plus, you know, Bruce said we were definitely going to need cake for this.” 

“I see,” Phil nodded. “So, the news is that bad?” 

“I'm afraid so,” Bruce sighed, scraping the frosting off of his cake and onto Natasha's. “The box that Steve brought in did contain beauty products. High end, made to appeal to just about everyone. Sample bottles of makeup, shampoo, lotion, perfume, and deodorant. But -” 

“They were all chock-full of nanobots!” Tony interrupted, bringing up a view screen displaying an alien looking object. With its spindly legs, long neck and hexagonal head, it looked like the bastard child of a spider and a rocket ship. 

“It's modeled after a bacteriophage,” Bruce tapped the screen. “And it's the last phase of Hydra's bioweapon.” 

“What's a bacteriophage?” Clint asked, eying the nanobot as if he were sizing up a target. 

“A bacteriophage is a virus that infects bacteria,” Bruce said. “These nanobots do something similar. They are keyed to the genetically engineered bacteria that Hydra has been working on.” 

“Well, that sounds ominous,” Nat said, deftly stealing a huge, blue, frosting rose off of the cake with the tip of a knife. 

“It is,” Bruce said. “Up until now, we assumed that Hydra's plan just involved spreading disease for chaos' sake. And their original sets of bacteria do just that – both the food born and airborne ones make people ill, resist antibiotics and have a mortality rate of about two percent. But these nanobots change everything! Once they're activated, they inject a protein chain into the altered bacteria, triggering an endotoxin-” 

“They turn the bacteria into little, itty-bitty, poison factories,” Tony interrupted. “Ones that kill you within hours. And the best part? Guess why Hydra wanted to scan everyone's phone. Go ahead, guess.” 

“They're using the phones to trigger the nanobots,” Steve said, jaw tight. 

“Ding, ding, ding,” Tony waved his hands. “We have a winner.” 

“But why pass them out to a bunch of college kids?” Clint frowned. “Why not bigwigs and politicians? People you could blackmail or influence?” 

“It's a test run,” Steve pushed his cake away, the taste sour in his mouth. “Those kids are young, healthy. If Hydra can kill them, they'll prove their point. Show the world that they can kill anyone they want, with the flick of a switch.” 

“And here I was, assuming it was a test of their distribution network,” Tony scowled. “But your idea makes more sense.” 

“You're probably both right,” Natasha said. “Plus three other reasons we haven't thought of yet. Hydra does love to multi-task.” 

“Bruce?” Phil said calmly. “I assume you and Tony have some good news.” 

“Well,” Tony said. “Let's say we have Good News, Mediocre News, and Bad News. Jarvis, why don't you start with the good news?” 

“Of course,” Jarvis said. “My detailed analysis of the nanobots programming has revealed a built-in failsafe. A 'kill-code' if you will. Once activated, it will cause all of the nanobots to self-destruct, rendering them harmless.” 

“That seems oddly convenient,” Clint narrowed his eyes. 

“But it makes sense,” Bruce said. “Especially when you're working with bioweapons. I mean, what happens if your bacteria get out of control and end up infecting you?” 

“And the bad news?” Natasha leaned back in her chair. Steve blinked at the cake. Now it was missing _all_ the frosting roses. How the hell had she managed that? And more important, who was going to have to spar with her later when the sugar rush hit? 

“The Bad News,” Jarvis said, “is that the kill code must be sent from a designated computer. Presumably from inside the base where the nanobots were made.” 

“Do you know where that is?” Clint asked. 

“That would be the Mediocre News,” Tony said, shaking the now empty coffee carafe over his cup. 

“Thanks to Captain Rogers' tracker,” Jarvis said, “I was able to trace the Hydra Agents until the signal went offline somewhere in the Eastern Caribbean. Satellite data and shipping logs would indicate a major Hydra base somewhere in the area.” 

“That's an awfully big area,” Steve frowned. 

“Right?” Clint frowned, pulling up a map. “We don't even know what kind of base they're using. It could be on an island, or underwater, or underground-” 

“I may be able to help with that,” Phil said, eyes cutting to the balloons over Steve's chair. “I'm sure you've already guessed who my contact inside Hydra-” 

“Bucky,” everyone chorused, Clint spraying cake crumbs on his shirt. 

“It wasn't too hard to figure out,” Bruce shrugged. 

“Yes, well,” Phil continued, ““Bucky” is usually the one who initiates contact. But given the circumstances, I don't think he would object if this time we reached out to him.” 

“Especially if Steve was the one reaching out. Or you know, _around,”_ Tony wiggled his eyebrows. 

Steve felt his face go hot and dragged his cake back over. Maybe if dropped his fork, he could hide under the table. Or stab Tony in the shin.... 

“In the meantime, I'll start calling in the STRIKE teams,” Phil said. “Oh, and Tony?” 

Tony looked up, meeting Phil's eyes. “Yes, fearless leader?” 

“No submarine cars this time, alright?” Phil said flatly. 

“Fine, no underwater _cars,_ ” Tony crossed his arms. “I still say that was a great idea. If you'd just-” 

Steve leaned back, trying not to smile, the sounds of the team at work fading into the background, his brain chanting _Bucky, Bucky, Bucky._ He was going to meet with _Bucky_. 

Maybe this time he'd be able to get his number. 

~ ~ ~ 

Steve quickened his pace, feet thudding on the low boardwalk, eyeing the tiny bar built out over the water. Everything at this cheesy resort seemed to be built over the water. He just didn't get it. The Bahamas were full of resorts. Why meet here, at this rundown excuse for a tourist trap? 

Not that he'd seen many tourists. Or employees for that matter; he could already see there was no one inside the bar, not even a bartender. He might be a little early... OK, maybe a lot early, but that _was_ strange, right? 

He ducked under the fake palm fronds hanging over the entrance and stopped short, sneakers squeaking on the wood planks. 

There was a shirt hanging on the back of one of the chairs. Not just any shirt - it was _his_ shirt, the one Bucky had stolen from him a week ago in Miami. 

Steve dropped into a chair, eyes darting over the tiny space. There was a beach towel tossed on the bar, a half-full glass sitting next to it, condensation running down the side. Steve picked it up, peering at the mint leaves on the bottom. The ice was only partially melted, so it hadn't been there very long. But unless Bucky was hiding behind the bar- 

A loud splash sounded to his right, and - Oh, _oh_. 

There was Bucky, rising like a god out of the surf. 

This time he was wearing his own face, the one Steve had seen in Zola's lab. He'd also turned off the Veil on his prosthetic arm. It was beautiful – black and gold – it shone in the late afternoon sun like a living work of art. Almost as beautiful as Bucky's chest and tight abs and holy fucking hell... 

Bucky vaulted up, landing gracefully on the deck. He was wearing an absolutely sinful pair of black swim trunks, an eight-inch dive knife strapped to his thigh. He tossed his wet hair off his face with a graceful flip of his head. 

Steve's mouth went dry, his brain a mindless buzz. 

Bucky padded over, leaning past Steve to pick up his towel, the tiny trunks molding to his perfect ass. He straightened up,drying his hair and Steve's eyes were trapped, watching beads of water run down his chest. 

Bucky slowly drew the towel over his shoulders, his chest, down, and down... before tossing it onto an empty chair. Steve let go of the breath he hadn't known he was holding. 

“You drank my mojito.” 

“What?” Steve startled, looking at the empty glass in his hand. “Huh. I guess I did.” Well, that explained the terrible taste in his mouth. 

“From the look on your face, I'd guess mojitos aren't your favorite,” Bucky smiled. 

“No, not really,” Steve grimaced. “Too minty.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky smirked and bit the corner of his lip. He ducked down, slipping under the pass through, coming up behind the bar. “Let me make you something else.” 

“Did you quit your day job? Are you a bartender now?” Steve leaned back, eyes focused on Bucky's hands as he filled a glass with ice. “Wait – you didn't rent out this whole resort did you?” 

Bucky grinned, deftly flipping bottles of vodka and peach schnapps. Steve smothered a grin of his own; he knew _exactly_ what drink Bucky was making. 

“Nope, nope and nope,” Bucky shook his head, adding orange and cranberry juice to the glass. He twirled a little pink paper umbrella to open it, and tucked it into the drink. “Can't forget that.” He slid the glass over, giving Steve a wink. 

“So, what is it?” Steve asked, taking a long, slow drink – wanting to hear Bucky say it. 

“Sex on the Beach,” Bucky said lowly. He leaned forward, elbows on the bar, eyes never leaving Steve's face. 

“Huh,” Steve raised an eyebrow. “You know, I think I've had that before.” 

“Well, it couldn't have been that good if you aren't sure,” Bucky drawled. He ducked back under the bar and finally dropped into his seat, pressing his bare leg up against Steve's. Steve had never been so grateful to be wearing shorts in his life. 

“I have it on good authority that _my_ Sex on the Beach is excellent,” Bucky said gravely. 

“Oh, it is,” Steve took another sip, trying to calm his racing pulse. 

“Of course,” Bucky said slowly, “Sex in my Bungalow is even better.” 

“I'm sure,” Steve nodded. “Less sunburn. And sand.” He winced, mentally kicking himself. Jesus. _Less sand?_ It was as if he'd never gone to a Seduction Seminar in his life. 

“Yeah, Steve,” Bucky laughed. “A lot less sand,” he leaned in, his breath ghosting over Steve's cheek. “And a bed.” He smelled like the ocean, like mint and Steve couldn't get enough. 

“So,” Bucky drew back, “what do you say we take your Sex to my bungalow? Unless you just want what you came for?” 

“Came for?” Steve blinked, trying to focus. 

“The info? On Hydra's base?” Bucky grinned. “I've got it right here. You could take it and go-” 

“Oh! No, no,” Steve said already standing. “We should definitely go. To your bungalow. That's here.” _Oh, good God._ Could he sound any more desperate? 

Bucky didn't seem to mind. He stood, pulling Steve's previously pilfered shirt on, leaving it hanging open, and Steve's stomach tightened, a zing going through him at the sight. Seeing Bucky in his shirt was definitely going on his 'good things in life' list. 

“Wait,” Bucky stopped, reaching past Steve, grabbing the umbrella from Steve's glass. “Don't forget your umbrella.” 

“Sure,” Steve said absently, then swallowed hard as Bucky tucked the paper umbrella behind Steve's ear. 

“That's better,” Bucky smiled, taking Steve's hand. 

They made their way down the short boardwalk and onto the beach, neither one of them saying anything. Steve was just happy to finally see Bucky in the daylight, to watch the way his eyes crinkled in the sun. 

“This is me,” Bucky nodded to a large bungalow built over the water. The long boardwalk looked like it had seen better days. Bucky nudged him over to the left, his metal arm warm from the sun. “Watch your step.” 

“So why this place?” Steve asked, eyeing the shabby looking bungalow. “Your agency have you on a tight budget?” 

“Not quite,” Bucky laughed. He did something to the door and a sharp beep sounded. The sound of multiple locks disengaging was loud enough to be heard over the surf, and the door opened with a hiss. As soon as they were inside the lights came up automatically, revealing a stylish, modern interior. 

“Ah,” Steve nodded, “I get it. It's a Company resort.” _Well, that explained a lot._ He wondered what would have happened if he'd walked on the wrong side of the boardwalk. 

“Yep,” Bucky stepped closer, crowding Steve against the door. “I can guarantee there's no safer place in this half of the world.” 

Steve shivered in the cool air, eyes never leaving Bucky's face. “So, what company-” he started, and then Bucky was kissing him. His mouth tasted like rum and lime. His lips tasted like the sea. 

Steve groaned, grabbing Bucky's hips, pulling him in tight. God, he'd been dreaming of this for _weeks._

Bucky broke the kiss, lips moving along Steve's jaw, biting behind his ear. Steve tipped his head, trying to guide Bucky's mouth a little lower... 

Bucky stopped abruptly, pulling away, and what...? _Why, why?_

“Jesus Fuck, Steve,” Bucky grimaced. “Is that some sort of sunscreen?” 

“Wha?” Steve blinked. “I mean yes? Have you seen me? I'm lucky I don't sunburn in the dark.” 

“But why does it taste like that?” Bucky mumbled, trying to scrape his tongue on his teeth. 

“It's a special blend?” Steve said sheepishly. “It's something my lab guys came up with. The SPF is so high I think it might actually stop lasers.” 

“Laser repellant, huh?” Bucky asked, stepping back into Steve's space. “Too bad you weren't wearing it when Zola had you.” Steve nodded, sucking in a deep breath as Bucky's hands dropped to the string on his shorts. “Did you apply it everywhere?” 

“No, not _everywhere_ ,” Steve said, eyes locked on Bucky's mouth, his gorgeous lips- 

“Good, that's good,” Bucky growled, slowly sinking to his knees. 

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Steve groaned, hands coming up to tangle in Bucky's hair. 

Bucky's fingers deftly undid the knot on Steve's shorts, pushing them down. 

He looked up, smirking when he saw Steve had gone commando. “Anticipating, Rogers?” 

“Yes,” Steve groaned. And he had - he'd been dreaming of this ever since that night in the alley. Imagining what Bucky's mouth would feel like. 

Bucky moved forward and Steve tensed, the muscles in his thighs clenching under Bucky's hands. 

Bucky chuckled and blew a breath over Steve's cock, nuzzling it with his nose. 

“Bucky,” Steve whined. “Don't tease. Please.” His fingers flexed in Bucky's hair, wishing he knew him better. Knew if he could move him, or pull or- 

“You like being teased,” Bucky gave Steve's cock a little kitten lick, then another. “Don't deny it.” 

Steve groaned, head thumping back against the door. Yeah, he did. He loved being teased. 

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky licked his lips, fingers gripping the base of Steve's cock. “I've been dreaming about this since I saw you on that damn table.” 

“Arhg?” Steve made an indistinct noise as Bucky's mouth closed over him. Bucky bobbed his head, taking Steve's cock shallow a first, then deeper and deeper still. Steve groaned, the sensation rolling through him. 

Bucky sped up, making it wetter, making it sloppy. He went all the way down, letting Steve's cock into his throat, holding him there for a few seconds. Then he drew up, sucking hard - fast and relentless. Bucky did it again, and again and _fuck, fuck_. Steve had known Bucky would be good. But this was absolutely, amazingly perfect. 

Steve groaned, feeling the sensation build, his eyes fluttering closed. Bucky echoed his moan, the vibrations rattling through Steve. Bucky's mouth was wicked, his tongue like velvet, and it went on, and on, hot and wet and so, so good... 

Steve pried an eye open and looked down. Bucky was looking up at him, eyes hooded, his lips stretched sinfully tight - and that was all he needed. “I... I'm...” was all the warning he could give before he was coming, hands tightening in Bucky's gorgeous hair. _Fuck, fuck._ “Bucky-” 

Bucky stood up, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. He grinned, slow and wicked, his cock tenting those obscene swim trunks. Still wearing Steve's shirt and that _god-damn_ dive knife. Steve choked on a laugh, sputtering. 

“Huh,” Bucky cocked his head to the side. “You know, that's not usually the reaction I get when I blow somebody.” 

“It's just -” Steve waved a hand over himself, still in his t-shirt, shorts puddled around his ankles, a tiny pink umbrella behind his ear. “And you're-” He sighed, giving up. “Jesus, Bucky. You look good in my shirt.” 

Steve pulled him in, kissing him hard. Now Bucky tasted like him. 

Bucky broke the kiss, his hands coming up to grip Steve's shoulders. “So, this sunscreen. Will it come off in the shower? Or do I need to call in a de-con team?” 

“No, showers fine,” Steve sighed. God, he was having trouble feeling his toes. 

“Good, great. Let's go,” Bucky said. “The sooner I can get my mouth on the rest of you the better.” 

“Sir, yes, sir!” Steve said smartly, yanking his shorts up, not bothering to tie them as he followed. 

The bathroom was just as impressive as the rest of the bungalow – the shower already running, water beading on the glass walls. 

Steve heard the clatter of the knife on the counter and turned just in time to see Bucky skinning out of his swim trunks. 

“See something you like, Rogers?” Bucky twirled the trunks on metal fingers, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Yes,” Steve said plainly, eyes locked on Bucky's cock. “God yes.” He ripped his shirt off so fast he felt a seam pop and the poor pink umbrella shot across the room. 

“I'm gonna warn you now,” Bucky stepped forward, hands dropping onto Steve's hips. “I don't have sex in the shower.” 

“Oh?” Steve wiggled his hips, letting his shorts hit the floor. 

“Let's just say that not all these scars are work related.” Bucky made a sweeping gesture over his chest. 

“Oh, God, Bucky, I'm so sorry. I had no idea,” Steve whispered dramatically, eyes wide. “Is that how you lost your arm? A sex accident?” 

“You ass,” Bucky laughed and shoved Steve into the shower. 

“You love my ass,” Steve said, sighing as Bucky plastered himself along Steve's back. 

“Gonna wreck that ass,” Bucky muttered, letting go, reaching for the body wash. 

“Yeah, OK,” Steve groaned. God, somedays he _loved_ being a spy. 

~ ~ ~ 

Steve sighed, enjoying the cool cotton of the sheets against his overheated skin. They were definitely going to need another shower. 

He ran his hand up Bucky's chest. Not looking for round two, not yet; just enjoying the contact. He traced over bullet wounds and knife scars, the map of their lives carved in flesh. 

He felt Bucky's fingers absently trailing along his skin, returning the favor, ghosting from one scar to another. He shuddered a little as Bucky touched the starburst scar on his hip. Lagos - that had been a close one. 

Steve leaned up until he could run his fingers over the scars on Bucky's shoulder. He wondered how it really happened, but knew he couldn't ask. Not without ruining the mood. Maybe someday... He flopped back down with a sigh. 

“So, how long can you keep it up?” Steve asked, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. 

“Excuse me?” Bucky rolled his head over, giving Steve a fierce side-eye. “I'm pretty sure you already know the answer to that.” 

“Not your dick,” Steve swatted Bucky's arm. “I meant, how long can you keep undermining Hydra before they realize you're a double agent.” 

“As long as I need to,” Bucky sank back down, resting his head on Steve's shoulder. “I've got the Veil. I use the business cards-” 

“To make them think they're being attacked by a freelancer,” Steve sighed, running his fingers through Bucky's hair, still slightly damp from the shower. “That's a great misdirection.” 

“I thought so,” Bucky nibbled on Steve's collarbone, hands roving with more purpose. 

“It's too bad you're not really Hydra,” Steve said and Bucky's fingers stopped their downward spiral. 

“I'm sorry,” Bucky sat up, eyes narrowing. “Did you just wish I was secretly a neo-Nazi, right-wing, bigoted, fascist, asshole? With delusions of grandeur?” 

Steve shot him a look. “I just meant that if you _were_ Hydra, you could defect. Come work for Shield. Instead of going back to oh, I don't know. Whichever super-secret agency you _do_ work for.” 

“Please,” Bucky snorted. “I know Shield's budget. You guys couldn't afford me.” 

“Yeah,” Steve said sadly. “I figured. It just would have been nice is all. To go on a real date. Get to know you. The real you.” 

“You want to date?” Bucky cocked his head, his expression unreadable. 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “I really do. Maybe we still could? I mean, you're the best thing-” He stopped himself, running a hand over his face. God, he was an idiot. 

“It's a nice idea,” Bucky said slowly. “But Steve, in this line of work-” 

He trailed off and Steve knew exactly what he meant. This life was full of random hookups, one night stands. It was hard trying to find someone who understood, who had the same life experiences. Let alone find time to get to know each other, have a real relationship. There was no way he could be lucky enough to have Bucky for more than tonight. 

“Yeah,” Steve swallowed hard. “Sorry. It was stupid-” 

“No,” Buck threw his leg over Steve, straddling him. “It's not.” He leaned down and Steve craned his neck, meeting him in a long, sweet kiss. 

They both drew back, and Bucky sighed. 

“There's always the raid next week,” Steve said lightly, trying to recapture the mood. “Assuming we both survive-” 

“Survive?” Bucky eyes went comically wide, and he tweaked Steve's nipple. “Of course you will. You've got an inside man, remember?” 

“Inside man, huh?” Steve arched an eyebrow. “Maybe you should demonstrate that.” 

“Maybe I should,” Bucky grinned, already fumbling for the lube. 

“Never hurts to have lots of prep,” Steve said seriously. “For the mission.” 

“Right,” Bucky found the lube and held it up in triumph. “Mission prep... coming right up.” 

Steve threw a hand over his face and groaned. If the sex didn't kill him, all these innuendos might. 

  
  



	5. From a View to a Kill

  


Steve tightened his grip on the sled, switching it to hover mode, drifting slowly to the rocky bottom of the ocean. He felt more than saw Natasha do the same next to him, almost invisible in the dark, murky water here on the far side of Hydra's island base. 

“OK?” Natasha signed, keeping radio silent. Steve gave her a thumbs up in agreement and nodded his head. He just hoped Tony's tech was keeping the other STRIKE teams just as hidden as they took up their positions. 

He adjusted his rebreather mask, settling in to wait. Time seemed to stretch with nothing to see but the faint shapes of rocks and Natasha hovering next to him. He jerked hard as something brushed past his foot. It was probably a fish. He hoped it was a fish. God, he hated being underwater like this. At least the water wasn't freezing. That was the worst. 

Natasha waved, catching his attention. “Soon. Patience,” she signed. 

Patience? Yeah, easy for her to say. 

This part of Bucky's plan was _crap -_ no communication, way too many variables. What if Bucky couldn't gain access to the base? What if he were discovered? Anything could have happened in the last three days. Bucky could be dead for all he knew- 

A grinding noise shuddered through the water and the hidden door built into the side of the island began to creak open. _Oh, thank God._

They both sank further down, using the rocks on the seafloor for cover. 

Steve felt the change in water pressure before he saw them. Dark shapes, moving slowly at first, then faster as they sensed open water. He counted as they moved past - three, four, five, six... One by one the sharks poured out of the holding pen, gliding to freedom. He was probably imagining the look of relief in their deep, black eyes. 

They waited, but the last shark never appeared. Steve shrugged, marking the seconds until they had to move. By 'ten' they were out of time. He let the sled pull him into the shark pen, Natasha following in his wake. 

The water brightened as they moved inside, overhead lights casting weird shadows onto the sandy bottom. He kept close to the wall, circling around to the viewing deck and catwalk built over the pool. 

There was still no sign of the last shark. Which was unfortunate, since they'd all been trained to attack whoever got tossed in the pool. He hoped they'd go back to their normal diet now that they were free. Jarvis was tracking them just in case, but he'd hate to have to hunt them down later. It wasn't their fault Hydra had turned them into killing machines. 

As soon as they reached the deck Steve grabbed his equipment bag and quickly scaled the ladder, letting his sled drift to the bottom. So far, there'd been no alarm and a quick glance showed the cameras had been disabled. 

He pulled down his mask and tapped his earpiece. Now that they were inside the base he should be able to- 

“Steve? You made it,” Bucky's voice said warmly in his ear. 

“Hey, Buck, yeah, we're here,” Steve knew he was smiling, but he couldn't help it. He pulled one of Hydra's stupid blue jumpsuits out of the bag, struggling to pull it over his wet swim trunks. He'd have to ask Bucky if Hydra ever did casual Friday because jumpsuits just _had_ to be bad for morale. 

“Welcome, to San Monique Island. Where all your fantasies can come true,” Bucky sing-songed. “Well, if they include murder, explosions, and romantic picnic dinners overlooking the submarine bay, that is.” 

“With a view of shark-infested waters?” Steve grinned. “Will there be music?” 

“For you? I'll see if I can capture Hydra's in-house orchestra,” Bucky said, voice going low. Steve shivered. God, he loved that voice- 

Something slammed into his chest, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Sorry to interrupt, boys,” Natasha said sweetly. “But this dance is chaperoned.” She reached up and shoved the ball cap she was holding onto Steve's head a little harder than necessary. 

“Yes, Agent Romanov,” Bucky said meekly. “Sorry, Agent Romanov.” 

“That's better,” Natasha said primly, handing Steve his guns. “There'll be time for sex _after_ we save the world, hmmm?” 

“Sorry, Nat...” Steve said, knowing he didn't sound sorry at all. 

“OK,” Bucky's voice was all business. “It's going to take me a minute to work my way up from Maintenance. Stash your gear in the filter room and I'll meet you in Biomechanics.” 

“Copy that,” Steve said, fumbling with his Veil. 

Nat shook her head sadly, grabbing the gear bags. She was already wearing her Veil, looking every inch the Hydra agent. From the tilt of her head, the slouch of her shoulder - it was like magic. 

“Ready?” 

“Ready.” 

Steve opened the door, walking out first. The bio-labs weren't far. Just a few more minutes and he could call in the assault teams- 

“Slow down,” Natasha whispered, tugging on his sleeve. “You're a Hydra goon, remember? Act like someone who hates their job.” 

“If you're working for Hydra you probably hate your whole _life_ ,” Steve muttered, but he slowed down, slumping his shoulders, trying to look more sullen. 

This late at night there were only a few people going about their jobs. Steve nodded as they passed a woman in a white lab coat, but she ignored him completely. _So, evil_ and _rude._

The Biomechanics wing seemed just as deserted. They split up, Steve taking the door on the right, while Nat took the one on the left. 

Steve grabbed a handful of charges out of his belt pouch. They might be small, but he knew they packed a punch. He jogged through the lab placing one on anything that looked important. 

The other two labs on his side of the hallway went just as quickly. This was going even better than he'd hoped. 

He ducked out of the last lab to find Natasha waiting for him at the end of the hallway. According to the plans this room held all of Hydra's bio-research and had a much better level of security. 

“Any problems?” Steve whispered. 

“Couple of techs. Nothing I couldn't handle,” Nat muttered, pulling one of Tony's bio-metric lock-picks out of her pocket. Steve angled himself to cover her just in case someone else came by. 

Twenty seconds later the lock clicked. They were in. Steve swung the door open – and froze. 

“Good evening!” Dr. Zola said, hand hovering over a menacing red button. “Agents Rogers and Romanov, I presume?” 

Steve took a step forward, saw Natasha shift her weight out of the corner of his eye. 

“Stop!” Zola barked. His set his palm on the button. “One more step and thousands will die. Now, drop your weapons, put your hands on your heads.” 

Steve shrugged. It's not like either of them needed a _gun_ to kill Zola. He bent his knees, setting his gun on the floor. Natasha did the same, and Steve saw the slight motion that meant she had a stun disc ready to throw. 

“I assume the rest of your team is lurking somewhere nearby,” Zola snapped. “I have already called Security. Rest assured, we will find them.” 

“Actually,” Steve said placidly, “it's just us. We thought we'd check out your little island resort.” 

“I gave it two stars,” Natasha deadpanned. “Of course, we haven't seen the submarine pen yet. I do love a good Sub.” 

“I'm sure,” Zola narrowed his eyes. 

Nat tensed ready to throw the stun disc, waiting for Steve's signal. Steve rocked back a bit on his heels. If he timed it just right, he should be able to tackle Zola before he could press the button- 

The door opened behind them and Steve pivoted to face the new threat. His blinked hard, his brain coming to a screeching halt. 

It was Bucky. There was no one else it could be. But he looked so _different._

For a second, Steve thought he was wearing a Veil. His face was a cold mask, his eyes eerily blank, his hair hanging loose and limp. 

Instead of normal tactical gear, he was dressed head-to-toe in black leather and kevlar, the left sleeve missing to show off his arm. Gone was the elegant black and gold one, replaced by something much bulkier, with heavy silver plates, Hydra's skulltopus emblazoned on the bicep. 

He was also carrying enough weapons to choke a rhino. Grenades, machine pistols, knives... 

Steve was surprised he had enough brainpower left to try and catalog them all. _Jesus, was there anything that Bucky_ didn't _look hot in? Holy shit._

Bucky raised his arm, the heavy silver plates shifting as he pointed a P226 at Steve. 

“As you can see, the time for games is at an end,” Zola chortled. 

“What no giant laser? Or man-eating sharks?” Steve said, dragging his attention back to Zola. It was hard, what with Bucky looking like a bondage fantasy come to life. 

“Or laser-sharks,” Natasha shrugged. “Maybe you could-” 

“Enough!” Zola said, coldly. “Goodbye, Agent Rogers; Agent Romanov.” 

“Goodbye, Dr. Zola,” Steve nodded. 

“What are you waiting for?” Zola snapped at Bucky. “Shoot them!” 

The shot rang out and Steve flinched. _Wow, that had been way too loud for this small room._

Zola, of course, dropped like a stone, a neat bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. 

Steve turned just in time to see the blank look drop off of Bucky's face. 

“Hi, Steve,” Bucky grinned, eyes bright, holstering the gun.

“Hi, Bucky,” Steve didn't even try to keep the smile off his face. 

“Hey,” Bucky took a step closer. 

“Hi,” Steve said again. _Great. Smooth, really smooth._

“You look good,” Bucky said, running his eyes over Steve. 

“I'm wearing a Veil. And a jumpsuit,” Steve waved a hand over himself. “No one looks good in a jumpsuit.” 

“No, no,” Bucky stepped over Zola's body, crowding close. “You make it look good. Of course, you'd look better out of it.” Bucky's voice dropped into a growl, his hand sliding up Steve's chest. 

“You look good too,” Steve swallowed hard. “The whole, bondage, leather, weapons... thing. It's really-” 

A sharp snap sounded to their left, and they both jumped. 

Natasha popped her gum again, the tiny camera in her hand never wavering. 

“Don't mind me,” Natasha said cheerfully. “Just capturing some memories. You know, for the wedding video.” 

“Nat, come on,” Steve felt his face go hot. “We're not getting _married.”_ He ducked to grab his gun, certainly not to hide his blush. 

“Really?” Nat popped her gum again. “I could have _sworn_ making moon eyes at each other over the bodies of your enemies counts as a proposal.” 

“Nah,” Bucky grinned. “It's a proposition at best. A proposal calls for something a lot _bigger._ ” 

“I'll bet,” Natasha said, pocketing the camera. She moved to the console, shoving Zola out of the way with her toe. “So, shall we get this show on the road?” 

“I've got the charges,” Steve said. Nat was already downloading everything she could to take back to Bruce. 

Bucky moved to the station next to her, and did something to his silver hand, pulling it off like a glove. He flexed his black and gold hand, and then- 

“Oh, my God,” Nat said, laughing. “It's a _thumb_ drive.” 

“What else would it be?” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows, slipping the end of his detached thumb into the USB port. 

Steve grinned, place charges all around the room. 

“Done,” Nat said, slipping the drive free. 

“Me, too,” Bucky said, putting his thumb in place and pulling the silver cover back over his hand. “Let's go.” 

Nat jammed the lock behind them, so no one would accidentally find Zola. 

Bucky took the lead, scowling and stalking through the hallways like he owned them. Steve and Natasha marched in his wake and Steve could almost hear a soundtrack playing. _God, this was going to be so much_ fun. 

Steve kept his head down, trying not to gawk. Hydra's base was way more impressive than it had seemed on paper. They even had a fleet of sleek black helicopters and gunships, hidden under the retractable roof. There had to be two dozen aircraft here - and a lot of technicians. Of course, none of the techs even glanced at them, scrambling to get out of Bucky's way. 

The hangar's control room was a stand-alone unit with reinforced walls and bulletproof windows. Steve could see four technicians inside. From here they could access all of Hydra's systems. 

Bucky didn't even try for subtle. He twisted the doorknob off and swung the door open in one smooth motion. 

“Asset?” One of the technicians stood up. “I don't think you're authorized-” 

Bucky's knife caught her in the throat. The other techs started to move, but not fast enough. Steve's knife and Nat's stun discs took out the others before they could get up from their chairs. 

Bucky closed the door, putting a flat rectangle along the seam, and Steve had to blink against a bright flash of light. 

“Door's sealed,” Bucky said. “That will hold them for a while.” 

Steve started moving the bodies, dragging them out of sight of the windows and Bucky and Nat dropped into the chairs. 

Steve sat next to Bucky, bringing up the control panel for the submarine bay. 

“Ready,” Nat said, fingers flying over the terminal. 

“Shall we?” Bucky turned to Steve. 

“We shall,” Steve grinned, tapping the control to open all of the underwater doors. Beside him, Bucky disabled all the outer defenses, while Nat opened the hangar roof. 

Through the window, Steve could see the huge panels start to pull apart, showing the dawn sky. Alarms began blaring and red lights flashed everywhere until Bucky turned them off. 

A distant explosion shook the base, followed by another. 

“Looks like McKenzie's team found the submarines,” Nat grinned. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky said, looking out at the hanger. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. It was a beautiful sight. STRIKE team Alpha was repelling into the hanger, guns blazing. A helicopter went up in a ball of flame. 

“How the hell?” Bucky stood up to get a better look. “Are they repelling from giant invisible drone platforms?” 

“You bet your ass we are,” Clint's voice said in everyone's ear. Steve didn't see the explosive arrow fly, but he saw another chopper go up in flame. 

“Told you they would work,” Tony said smugly. “Hey Cap, how's it going inside Hydra-land?” 

“Just fine,” Steve grinned. “Welcome to the party.” 

“'Bout time you opened the door,” Sam's voice chimed in. “So, you guys just going to sit there and watch? Or you going to get out here and help.” The sound of shots came over the com. 

“Just a second,” Nat said fingers flying over the keyboard, “I disabled their security – I'm opening the connection to Jarvis right... now.” 

“Thank you, Agent Romanov,” Jarvis' voice came from the console in front of Steve. “I have sent the code to disable the nanobots and am now data mining all of Hydra's systems.” 

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. Now came the fun part. He threw away the stupid hat and peeled the Veil off his face, shoving it into one the pouches on his belt. Beside him Bucky pulled the silver cover off his arm, letting it fall to the floor with a crash. Natasha was busy placing more charges on just about every surface. 

“Download complete, Agent Rogers,” Jarvis informed them. 

“Jarvis? We've placed charges here and in the bio-labs. Can you blow them once Shield personnel are clear? Oh, and take over Com traffic, please?” 

“Of course, Captain,” Jarvis said, and instantly the noise of battle cut out from his earbud. As much as he loved chatter and backtalk, it just wouldn't work with three STRIKE teams in play. Having Jarvis filter everything was a godsend. 

“So, what say we blow this popsicle stand?” Natasha said brightly, a gun in each hand. 

Bucky pulled the locking device off the door. “Age before beauty,” he grinned, pulling the door open. 

“For the last time, I am _not_ older than you,” Steve grumbled, already lining up his first shots. 

They tumbled out the door into chaos. Flames shot into the air as fuel tanks exploded, throwing strange shadows everywhere. Hydra goons had taken up defensive positions and were returning fire. 

Steve fell into battle mode, Bucky right beside him. They fought as if they'd been working together for years. He grinned when Bucky handed him a magazine before he'd even had time to reach for a new one. 

It barely registered when Nat disappeared. He knew she was going to find Clint. 

He and Bucky began picking off Hydra agents, slowly moving through the hanger. This, this is what he was good at. This was why Shield kept him around. 

The roof had fully retracted now, and a clean wind was blowing into the hanger, dissipating the smoke. Steve looked around, gauging the battle. 

Across the way, Loki was facing down Johann Schmidt, both of them with knives in hand. And wow, now _that_ was something to see. Talk about competence – it was a thing of beauty- 

Steve was swept off his feet, crashing hard to the ground as Bucky tackled him. A flaming chunk of ceiling fell right where he'd been standing. 

“You need to work on your situational awareness,” Bucky huffed, pushing himself up on his elbows. He wiggled a bit, OK a lot, while getting off and back to his feet. 

“Thanks,” Steve groaned. “I think. Geez, I don't remember you being so heavy.” 

“It's the armor-” Bucky broke off eyes wide. Steve arched his neck, trying to see past the debris. OH, shit- 

Up on the catwalk, Sam was engaged with Rumlow. He was holding his own, but he didn't see the Hydra agent sneaking up on him from behind. 

Steve fumbled for his earbud, but his fingers closed on empty space. Shit, it must have fallen out when Bucky tackled him. Even from here Steve could see Rumlow smirking as the man behind Sam brought up his gun, and _fuck, fuck-_

A bright red laser beam cut through the air and the agent behind Sam fell, his arm flopping to the ground, severed at the elbow. Steve could hear his screams over the din of battle. 

Sam dropped Rumlow over the railing with a kick to the head, then turned to shoot the goon behind him. 

Beside him, Bucky put his arm down, the tip of his finger sliding back into place. 

“Let me guess,” Steve blew out a breath, flopping back onto his elbows. “Laser pointer.” 

“Yep,” Bucky shrugged, reaching down a hand to pull Steve up. 

Steve arched an eyebrow, pulling a spare com from his belt pouch. 

“Laser – pointer.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “Hey, it's not me. I'm not the one that comes up with this stuff. It's my lead tech, Shuri? She-” 

“Steve?” Sam's voice said, the second the Steve activated his new com. “Did your boy do this Steve? Is he the reason I'm covered in blood?” 

“Maybe?” Bucky winced, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Maybe?” Sam sputtered. “Oh, we are going to have words. Could have just turned on your com and warned me. But no – got to turn poor Bob here into some kinda blood fountain-” 

“I forgot I could com you, OK?” Bucky interrupted. “I usually work alone-” 

“Alone?” Sam muttered, and Steve could see him moving down the catwalk. “Probably 'cause no one-” 

Jarvis cut the feed when it was clear they were only bantering, but Steve had already stopped listening. Through the flames and debris, he could see Zemo making a break for it. Heading down the hallway Steve had just come from. Not toward the main exits, but back toward the labs – and the shark tank. 

“Come on!” Steve grabbed Bucky's sleeve, breaking into a run. Bucky didn't say a word, just followed in Steve's wake, shooting ahead of them to clear a path. 

They pounded down the corridor, back to the shark tank room. Bucky ran ahead of Steve, not even slowing at the door, just punching through the knob with his left arm. 

They skidded onto the empty deck just in time to see a small one-man sub rising from the sand, heading for the exit. 

“Shit, fuck!” Bucky snarled, ripping a hand through his hair. 

“The sleds!” Steve snapped, not bothering with the ladder. He dove off the platform, the cold water hitting him like a punch to the guts. 

Steve reached his sled, hitting the button to power it up. He looked up, looking for Bucky - 

And froze as something much bigger and much scarier brushed by inches from his face. 

Well, there was that last shark. _God damn it._

He fumbled for his knife, just as the shark swung around, coming in again. Steve tensed, gauging the distance- 

The surface fractured as Bucky dove in, aiming straight for the shark. His left fist caught it right in the gills. Steve could almost feel the impact and flinched in sympathy. 

The shark rolled over and over, before shaking itself and swimming away. 

Bucky swam over in broad strokes, grinning, well, like a shark. They both grabbed the sled and Steve flicked it on high, letting it pull them out the door into the ocean. 

As soon as they were clear he angled it up, gulping in air as soon as they broke the surface. 

“Steve?” Bucky shook his hair out of his eyes. “What's the plan? 'Cause I don't think this thing-” 

“Just get behind me,” Steve grinned, flipping the smooth top off of the sled, revealing a seat. A steering yolk rose up, locking in place. He threw his leg over, and as soon as Bucky hoisted himself up and on, Steve hit the switch to jet-ski mode, pushing it to full throttle. 

They raced across the waves, and Steve squinted against the wind and spay. Behind him Bucky laughed, squeezing his right arm tighter around Steve's waist. 

Steve punched one of the buttons in front of him, bringing up the holographic display. Zemo's sub was a small red dot and they were gaining rapidly. 

“Get in front of him!” Bucky shouted in his ear. 

Steve nodded, bending low, angling to move in front. Once Zemo moved under them, he could deploy the depth charges- 

Something small shot past Steve's head and dove under the water. 

“Go! Go! Go!,” Bucky shouted, leaning into Steve to force a turn. 

Steve gunned the motor for all it was worth. 

The sub exploded behind them, a huge plume of water shooting into the air, rocking the jet-ski. Steve slowed as they started to bounce on the waves, coming to a stop. 

“What the hell was that?” Steve turned his head, squinting into the rising sun. 

“Nothing?” Bucky shrugged. 

Steve reached back and grabbed Bucky's left arm, pulling it out from in between them. He trailed his hand down until he was holding Bucky's hand. 

Which was missing the middle finger. 

“Don't say it,” Steve warned, eyes narrow. “Just don't.” 

“OK,” Bucky shrugged. “I just hope you never have to see me use my hand grena-” 

Steve pulled Bucky in, kissing him so hard the jet-ski rocked. Bucky kissed him back, grinning the whole time. It was awkward and put a strain on his neck and it was so, so good. 

“Captain Rogers?” Jarvis said in his ear. 

Steve pulled away from the kiss, breathing hard. Shit. He'd almost forgotten there was a battle going on. 

“Yeah, Jarvis?” 

“Shield has taken control of the area in and around the hangar. I will deploy the charges as soon as they are clear.” 

“Sure, great,” Steve sighed. They should probably head back. Even with the hangar and submarine pen destroyed, there was still the rest of the base to clear. 

Bucky pulled Steve toward him, then stood on the footrest to swing around so he was facing Steve. He sat back down, legs thrown over Steve's pinning him in. 

“So,” Bucky leaned in and kissed along Steve's jaw. “I wasn't kidding about that picnic on the beach. I've got it all set up.” 

“Come on, Buck,” Steve squirmed closer, tipping his head as Bucky started nibbling his neck. “We need to go back. Hydra's still-” 

“I think we can take care of this,” Natasha's voice came over his earpiece. Bucky was so close he could hear her in his ear too, a weird double echo. 

“Yeah, go have some fun, Cap,” Clint said. “I know I am.” Steve heard the twang of a bowstring, the sound of an explosion. 

“Hey!” Tony protested. “Why does Steve get the day off? I mean if anyone deserves a day off it's me. Do you know how many _days_ I was up making all this gear?” 

“Jarvis?” Steve said slowly. “What happened to running Coms?” 

“I am, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said. “Strictly necessary communications only on this channel.” 

“Uh huh,” Steve shook his head. Now the AI was ganging up on him. 

Bucky slowly slid his hand up Steve's arm, over his neck, and - 

And tapped his earbud off. He took his own out and threw it as far as he could. 

“You heard your team,” Bucky said lowly. “We got Zola, we gave Zemo the finger. I think we've earned-” 

“Oh, fuck,” Steve sputtered. “That – your finger – you had that thing inside me!” 

“You weren't complaining at the time,” Bucky grinned. 

“You didn't tell me it was a heat-seeking missile,” Steve narrowed his eyes. 

“Found its target didn't it?” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows, lounging back as far as he could on the tiny seat. “I even think there were fireworks.” 

Steve shook his head. He already knew when it came to puns and innuendo Bucky was by far the better Agent. 

A string of explosions shattered the morning air, as the South side of the island blew sky high. 

Bucky sat up, throwing his arm around Steve's shoulder. They let their legs dangle in the water, leaning on each other, watching Hydra's bio-labs go up in flames. 

“It was fun, wasn't it?” Bucky turned his head, expression unreadable. 

“Yeah, Buck it was,” Steve sighed, squinting in the bright sun. He could feel it beating on his head. “You're the best time I've ever had.” 

“Yeah, you too. I just wish-” Bucky grimaced, turning back to stare into the water. 

“Me, too,” Steve sighed, shoulders slumping. “Me, too.” 

“We've still got today,” Bucky gave him a lopsided grin. “And we run in the same circles. I'm sure we'll run into each other again.” 

“Probably,” Steve nodded. “We _are_ two of the best secret agents on earth.” 

“Exactly,” Bucky threw out his arms, making the jet-ski rock dangerously. 

“Just promise me one thing,” Steve said firmly. 

“Anything,” Bucky said softly. “Everything.” 

“Whatever happens... let's never, _ever,_ let your tech guys meet my tech guys, OK?” 

“Deal,” Bucky laughed, before pulling him into a kiss. 

~ ~ ~ 

Epilogue

Steve leaned forward, trying to focus on Phil's report, trying to pay attention to what Jarvis had found in Hydra's computers. 

Instead, his thoughts kept drifting back to Bucky and their picnic on the beach. The water in the caldera was deep, a dark blue that contrasted with the bright green of the ocean beyond it. A perfect site, with perfect company. Bucky had thought of everything - good food, cold drinks. And lots and lots of lube. 

He'd even remembered sunscreen. 

Steve sighed. Bucky had looked so _good_ once Steve had peeled him out of all that kevlar. His hair a windblown mess, his lips- 

He jerked as Natasha kicked him in the ankle. 

“Agent Rogers?” Phil asked a touch impatiently. Shit, shit. What was the question? 

“Umm,” Steve said, eyes darting to the screen. “Yes?” 

“As I was _saying_ ,” Phil said a little sharply. “Hydra's plans were even more complicated then we'd originally thought.” 

“Seriously?” Clint set his tablet down, twirling a stylus between his fingers. “Having a disease triggered by banana-bots wasn't complicated enough?” 

“Not for Hydra,” Phil shrugged. “It seems they were planning on using their targeted plague for political purposes.” 

“Well, we knew they wanted to gin up fear,” Bruce said. “Like that Ebola scare a few years ago?” 

“I'm afraid it's worse than that,” Phil said. “Using advanced data-mining techniques, target outbreaks, and social media campaigns, they plan to drive voters to elect Hydra selected candidates.” 

“How is that our problem?” Natasha waved her hand at the screen. “We're spies, not the FEC.” 

“Because according to the meta-data,” Jarvis said, “this plan was conceived and implemented from within our own government.” 

“Shit,” Clint straightened up so fast that he almost tipped the wobbly chair over. 

“Do we know who?” Tony muttered, fingers already flying over his tablet. 

“They have hidden their tracks quite effectively,” Jarvis said. Steve swore he almost sounded impressed. “But-” 

“But we believe it involves members of the Cabinet,” Phil said gravely. 

“You think someone in the Cabinet is Hydra?” Steve asked stiffly. 

“The evidence does point in that direction,” Jarvis said. 

“So how do we prove it?” Steve looked around the room, hoping for answers. _Shit, shit. This was so bad._

“This is going to be really hard, isn't it?” Clint waved his hands. “I mean, anyone that high up is going to have super-duper Clearance. They're-” 

“They're going to know who we are, how we operate,” Natasha narrowed her eyes. A knife had appeared in her hands. 

“Yes,” Phil said calmly. “So I've decided to bring in a specialist, someone with no connection to Shield. Someone they won't expect.” 

“What agency is he with?” Steve asked, a tiny spark of hope buzzing in his chest. 

“That's still classified,” Phil said, moving to the door. “But we have him on indefinite loan from his government.” 

Steve stopped breathing and swallowed hard as Phil pulled the door open. 

He wasn't disappointed. 

Bucky straightened up from where he was leaning on the wall and strolled into the conference room. He was wearing a bespoke, three-piece suit, his hair pulled back into a loose bun and Steve felt his mouth go dry. 

Bucky looked around the room and gave everyone a little wave. Steve could see his eyes narrow at the sight of the miss-matched chairs, the “It's A Boy!!” banner still hanging on the wall. 

Steve stood up so fast the Big Chair tipped over, landing with an ominous crack. 

“Aww, no,” Clint sighed. “Dammit, Steve, not the Big Chair, too.” 

Steve barely heard him. How had he gotten across the room? He didn't even remember moving. But Bucky was right here. Right in front of him. 

“Agents,” Phil said. “May I introduce-” 

“Barnes,” Bucky interrupted quickly. 

_“James_ Barnes.” 

He clasped Steve's hand, holding it firmly, pulling him close, then closer still. He smelled like coffee and expensive cologne, and Steve could feel Bucky's smile as he whispered in his ear. 

“But _you_ can call me Bucky.” 

  
  



End file.
